Indigenous Chants

One of the remarkable music in the Mountain Province or among the Igorot tribes are their Indigenous chants which are sung in different occasions like praying for the dead, wishes for a newly wed, entertainment on gatherings, songs in the ricefields, etc. Each differ in melody and tunes according to the nature of the occasion, tribes or even villages in a tribe- they can be different the way they are delivered. For example the Bontoc and those of Barlig chants are different, apart from the dialects. Here in these two videos the Bontoc women singing are standing, and do a lot of swaying of legs and body that goes with their chants. I am not sure how the Bontoc calls their chant in it's Finontok word but it is quite charming and more cheerful it seems. This is probably depending too on the nature of the life or death of the person being on vigil. You see a lot of laughter and cheer in these recordings maybe because my great grandmother lived a century and had a good life and died a natural death.

I haven't seen any research yet on the varieties and details about these chants of the igorot. Infact, Albert Jenks said in his book The Bontoc Igorot " The Igorot has vocal music, but in no way can I describe it—to say nothing of writing it. I tried repeatedly to write the words of the songs, but failed even in that. The chief cause of failure is that the words must be sung—even the singers failed to repeat the songs word after word as they repeat the words of their ordinary speech. There are accents, rests, lengthened sounds, sounds suddenly cut short—in fact, all sorts of vocal gymnastics that clearly defeated any effort to “talk” the songs."

These tradition is dying now a days, many of the skilled elders died and the generations hasn't acquired them. The new generations now just sings the hymnals from the church, or other composed songs.

Bontoc Chant: Part 1:


Bontoc Chant: Part 2:

Barlig Ricefields, a reflection

Our ricefields are magnificient and in magnanimous beauty. I wasn't sure to be aware of that when I was young as it seems just natural and the time of innocence to me. If you grew in a place like, that at young age it seems to be just a part of you. Growing up, I finally and slowly realizing how huge they are in space and beauty! They almost take half of our village and even extend to all directions of our ancestral lands. Our people, culture, nature and traditions complements with their existence. It was the center of our past, the life of our ancestors. People come to our place in awe for it's astonishing beauty, for them they have never seen such in real! I for myself who is now exploring and gone outside this little village of ours, lived in the city- Coming back home is a feeling of pain and regain. I missed the place, our ricefields are indeed beautiful, a rebirth of beauty in the eyes everytime I come home. Now each ricefield, sometimes we only see the beauty in the eyes, we seem to forget how many years our ancestors built them. This is manual labor, consider the distance from the river to the top of the mountain! It is not only stones but they have to kind of "architect" the slopes and the ground they will make the foundation of the paddies... it is beyond my imagination. I have seen how they do the repairs now a days, it is hardwork- you need to publish your help to the community and feed them after that. sometimes it is neglected for this reason. I (my parents) have some ricefields that until now some sides are still left eroded. My father knows the "kabite" but where will you get the stones, down down below the river, and scarce?! and he is alone. Will my son knows how to do this oneday?

It is such a tradition being lost, or even gone already.

Indigenous chants, great grandmother's vigil

One of the remarkable music in the Mountain Province or among the Igorot tribes are their Indigenous chants which are sung in different occasions like praying for the dead, wishes for a newly wed, entertainment on gatherings, songs in the ricefields, etc. Each differ in melody and tunes according to the nature of the occasion, tribes or even villages in a tribe- they can be different the way they are delivered. For example the Bontoc and those of Barlig chants are different, apart from the dialects.

For the Barligs, "Chagchaku" is a Finallig word for a song or chant to the dead. It is sung purely vocal, spontaneously composed in a story telling prose where words are led by one elder and being followed into a chorus to the end of the sentence/song. This is done during the waking nights/ days of the vigil. This is to give respect to the dead and keep the time and people awake during the vigil. Giving tribute and vigil to a loved one in the Mt. Province generally last up to days and even a week /s depending on circumstances advice of the elders or family.

Here is an example of it, during my great great grandmother's vigil, the elders gave respect and tribute to her. For her beauty, for her age, for her life, and the after life.



On thesame occasion, the women and elders of Bontoc came to sing their chants to my great grandmother. Because of intermarriage among the tribes (my grandfather is Barlig native and grandmother is Bontoc native), the different subtribes come to exchange their share of respect and prayer to the family. Here in the two videos of the Bontoc chants, the Bontoc women singing are standing, and do a lot of swaying of legs and body that goes with their chants. I am not sure how the Bontoc calls their chant in it's Finontok word but it is quite charming and more cheerful it seems. This is probably depending too on the nature of the life or death of the person being on vigil. You see a lot of laughter and cheer in these recordings maybe because my great grandmother lived a century and had a good life and died a natural death.

Bontoc Chant: Part 1:


Bontoc Chant: Part 2:



I have been thinking of putting into paper what is being said in the chants but it always sounds and look very difficult, for that reason I haven't really tried doing so.

I haven't seen any research yet on the varieties and details about these chants of the igorot. Infact, Albert Jenks said in his book The Bontoc Igorot " The Igorot has vocal music, but in no way can I describe it—to say nothing of writing it. I tried repeatedly to write the words of the songs, but failed even in that. The chief cause of failure is that the words must be sung—even the singers failed to repeat the songs word after word as they repeat the words of their ordinary speech. There are accents, rests, lengthened sounds, sounds suddenly cut short—in fact, all sorts of vocal gymnastics that clearly defeated any effort to “talk” the songs."

These tradition is dying now a days, many of the skilled elders died and the generations hasn't acquired them. The new generations now just sings the hymnals from the church, or other composed songs.

Barlig Panoramas

My beautiful home, Barlig in Panoramic views:
(Ps. click images or link for larger views)
Central Barlig:
Barangay Latang:
East of Barlig:
Awa to fialli:
Kachattay- Tannud:
Partial view, lower Gawana:
Barangay Macalana:
Partial view Bgy Lingoy (chator):
Barangay Fiangtin:
Fianna:
Photos by: Langfia Ayeona 2007.

SICHOK in our River

There is never an old place I have been that I will never go- the Barlig ricefields,mountains, rivers, nature and people. We went to "manichok" (women's fishing) when I was probably in highschool. We have done it with my classmates in the village. It was a first time experience and my friends are quite knowledgeable of it. It was learning to me, and as well fun!. This is really teamwork to make it successful, otherwise there wont me a fish for lunch! We caught a few but it is not easy and can be a disappointment if there is nothing to catch. Sometimes they say you must say a prayer to the river or to whoever seats in the water or the stones. One must be following the leader of to which corner, of when to move, of when to swim. Yes you must be a swimmer to do this one. Some of us we're not quite sober and we ended up swimming harsely at a wrong pace and direction- the river, the current, the fishes are disturbed! They wont be going inside the net! Sorry no fish, give a another try and be disciplined!.

I remember two occasions when I was very young, my grandmother on her own, positions her sichok net in between the stones in the river and then leave it there for some days. She goes back there especially just after a tide or strong rain. She's caught some! She is clever for that.

The second occasion, I watched one of the men in the Latang village, who was once known as "kumukulintti", a term for someone who uses electricity to fish. I can see him standing by the stones extending a stick with some wires and a battery loaded backpack. I stepped nearer and I felt the current on my leg, wow it is painful and quite shocking! Poor little fishes they die with no mercy. My father told me that fishes caught naturally is tastier than the one caught with dynamite or electricity. It is probably thesame with fishes raised in natural seas are better than fishes fed in the pond!. I hope that the local government will adopt laws against illegal fishing and illegal logging... The use of chemicals and electric in fishing, yes quick and easy but it kills the smaller fishes, disrupts the season of fishing, and especially disturbs the spirit of the river. Now we can't taste the real "kiachiw" and "chalet" anymore!

______________________

Now I will speak more of the photos here and the experience in Barlig during summer of 2007. The old women has invited me to take their pictures while doing the (“Sichok”) traditional fishing, and the men for their (“Kopor “) traditional way of making sugar cane wine. But all the time I was there and with May elections and campaigns there was never a chance for them, for us to make this happen. I hope in the future.

In this photographs, however, is simply showing how the young men were doing the traditional Women’s way of fishing which I happen to photograph them while I was taking a walk. It was unplanned but I am happy I could document it the simplest way.

“Sichok" is the local name of fishing. It is a net, hand sewed by women, strongly attached into a rattan curved stem. It is the most important part of the "Sichok" as there where the fishes are trapped by the strong current of water.

In the “Sichok” fishing, it is always done by a group of people (usually women). A medium size group not over a dozen individuals is a perfect number for not a quite wide river. There is always a leader (expert) that assigns the tasks and determine the way of the game.

This young men are told to cut some strong long grass (I don’t know the exact classification) locally called “Nuno”. They can be gathered near the river or in the deep forest. And they transport and carry them to their preparation area.

These "Nunos" are bundled about a grip size for the hand to hold on, using some of it’s leaves (or other roots) to knot making sure it would be strong. The middle stem is cleared off from it’s spiky itchy skin. :-)

Men have each two bundles to use. One, among them has to hold the net. Then they set to the river and choose a spot to fish.

The water is really chilly and it takes a lot of courage. Not too deep, not too shallow. Not too strong current. But one must know how to swim first, obviously.

Today, wearing a diving mask helps and making it easier. The man can see the ground first if there are some fishes.

The leader holds the net steady with a partner and waits for the rest to drive the fishes towards the net. They dance the stick of bundled leaves by moving it vertical up down motion. The men should move at almost thesame pace making sure there is equal gaps in between them as they progressively go to the corner. This is inviting and pushing the fishes towards the net.

They gently push them towards the net, and raise them at one time. There seems only few at the first attempt. The backpack basket to store what they caught! The excitement come and go, there can be fish-one, two or more, or might be none even. It is trial and error.

And then they have to study which corner and part of the river to try again, they go up or down the river but won’t repeat the areas they disturbed already.

In the old days, the women sing some chants while doing this. It is fun, exciting, a very social way of fishing, even. I could describe the most intimate way of respecting the nature of our river.

I like to hear the chants if possible, but haven't live before, maybe the river will.

Home Harvest

My grandparent's ricefields at Tannud:Morning Harvest.

My parent's ricefields at Kachattay: Afternoon harvest.


A sunny day that was offered to us as we also offered our hands, our feet, our spirit and strenght to harvest the gift of grains. My grandmother once said when I was young which really made me tear: do not leave any grains behind, be conscious, be alert, be vigilant because it is so pity for the grain to be with the others but they can't because we didn't spread our eyes so well. They will come to your house following the others, they come crying.

Siblaw Taraw

On the 28th of November, 2005 me and my friends finally decided to climb "Siblaw Taraw", a quicksand that was described to be in a middle of the far forest of Barlig. The drizzling weather didn't stopped us from hiking though sometime in the middle of climb I thought we should have waited for another day. Regardless of the weather the company of friends seems to have made it simplier and quicker.

It was then a discovery of a more mystifying forest, an untouched nature like to what I saw in our hike to Mt. Amuyao. This one is slippery and more dangerous because of the rain and gloomy weather. There are no proper trailways too, maybe because few hunters and farmers use them once in a while which then appears to be ancient trails to us. Our young guides though from Latang village knows how to navigate the ground and the mountain directions so we don't have worries of getting lost.

Finally, from too much anticipation and nagging questions weather we are near or not, the view of the quicksand appeared from below. I can see it from where I was at a higher mountain ground, from there I can see bright yellow ground surrounded by green thick trees. I can't wait to have a closer and full clearer view because the trees from where I was standing were against the way. I was amazed by the beauty as I get closer. Not taking the chances of drowning, I have to take some few and clearer picture like this from a tree.

The fire we started died because of the wetness of the woods and logs that we used. We were very hungry by reaching the place at 1:00 in the afternoon. We were hopeless of warmer air or improving weather to come so we quickly ate our lunch. Two hours of stay has allowed me to fully see the beauty of the quicksand. Because of it's nature we cannot go nearer to the central ground, otherwise, we will be trapped insided. At least I have a quick experience of the softness of the ground by walking with sticks and improvised bridging. As the air got cooler we decided to make a move. I can feel the dewness of the mountain and the slowly embracing hints of dark forest. I better take one picture more and go.

There I can almost see the "Allokoy" that my nan has once mentioned to me, a spirit that seats in the mountain. We religiously said goodbye to her and ask her to guide us on our way home.

In our attempt to do the shorter way to reach home, we ended into a more treacherous and dangerous hike in the dark. Following the pipeline from the forest reaching to Chatol has helped because we only had few lights with us. Finally we had a faded glimpse of the road at 9:00 in the evening! We shrug our clothes in the air as soon as we reached the welcoming Pan-oy's house. Clinging leeches, hunger, cold and tiredness made it a very challenging trip in the end. After a strengthening dinner given to us by the Pan-oy family, we have to walk the road to reach Barlig central. It is supposedly just 45 min walk but because we are very tired and have not enough light it feels that we have walked it for almost 2 hours! Home at last at 10:00 in the evening! We even missed the "Man-manok " (pinikpikan) invitation of Aunty Candida. So was it worth or not?

Definitely yes, otherwise I got nothing to share about this mystifying forest of Barlig.

For a short video clip of our hike please click here.

Majestic Malegcong

Malegcong, Mt. Province, CAR. Philippines.

Malegcong Village is one of the Barangays of Bontoc, Mountain Province in the North of the country. Banaue Rice Terraces is once tagged as the eight wonder of the world because of it’s heritage beauty built by the ancestors of the Ifugao people. Banaue is no different from Malegcong or Natonin or rather the Rice Terraces of the Mountain Province areas. They are both of unique beauty of thesame Cordillera Mountains.

Malegcong is about forty five minutes jeepney ride from Bontoc town. My first visit here is in 2004 and I was amazed by the compactness of the ricefields as they terraced like ladders down to the base of the earth. The ricefields were empty at that time and they will shortly be prepared for the next planting season. It was a filling beauty and wonder to me, like the ricefields of Barlig I couldn’t resist in appreciating them. I promised myself to visit the place in another season.

In 2005, I and my brother took my dad’s motorcycle and climbed this very hilly road towards Malegcong. Oh, it is so colourful, the people are in their happy faces becausecof the big harvest soon to come. The ricefields are brimming with yellow and slightly green colors. I can hear an increasing beating sound of a tin can that echoed in the corners of the huge mountains. This comes louder as we walk through the ricefields towards the main village.

I asked my dad about this and he said it is a noise created by the force of flowing waters that bumps against a small timber, this will hit tin container repeatedly. This makes a noise that can be heard within the village and it will keep the mouse scared from going near the ricefields to be harvested.

Also the different scarecrow figures that stands in the ricefields made it more interesting. When I was young I saw some of these figures and to me they are quite of mysterious beauty. The scarecrows in the middle and corner of the ricefields were made of old t-shirts, socks and other clothes, some are plastic bags hanged like clothes, and others are made of indigenous materials. There were no plastic bags in the old times and here instead of throwing them away they are jubilantly hanged like Fiesta greetings. They will make noises as the wind blows around. A farmer might not be educated but she is smart by this. Carrying an indigenous knowledge is a tool of surviving with nature.

Further to the main village led me to a panoramic view of the ricefields. It is a towering beauty! The scarecrows, the rice, the people, they look majestic as they seem to reach the heavenly sky. What a beautiful day in Malegcong!, which is only a day I could witness. I can imagine that people there are happy in every season of harvest. There is a count of more ricefields than the number of the houses. Truly it is richness!

Our Harvest

Barlig Mountain Province, Philippines.

It was seven years ago when I last attended a harvest in our village. I am now unemployed and going back to the village made me reunited again to the work of our people, especially the farming and way of living in the village. It might have changed a little bit but I always like to be at home. It is when without those that I won’t feel home. I am rather glad that I still have the opportunity to experience how the tradition and our culture are surviving now a days. Our harvesting is a great experience, only that the presence of my own grandparents seems to be one of those things that I miss the most.

Having a digital camera now is the best way to document our harvest and I was so thankful of it. Our harvest in Tannud is completed by almost twenty people. I am not fast unlike others but I can play my part in the line. It was fun! The day is bright and as sunny as the rice grains were in our hands. The grandchildren of the family looking at our ricefields were there too, they are guarding the cooking pots and sometimes helping us in harvesting. Seeing them reminds me our time when we were as young as them. We are playful too, the best way of being children. Our lunch is strong beans and red rice! Rich foods, that made us tougher to continue our harvest at Kachattay. We had to cross the Tannud River to get to the other side. We were faster now trying to save our harvest in case the rain might come. Seeing other families harvesting their own ricefields down from our location is also an inspiration for us. They are many, we are many and the ricefields are wide. It was a completion at the end just as the afternoon closed. It was a beautiful harvest, bountiful day. Again, I am always worried. In the future, will there be another likes this again? What if our parents die and we no longer don’t know how to plant the seeds, then we no longer won’t harvest. Will the grains be planted and reproduce? Will there be twenty people again to gather together, and will there be ricefields to harvest?

[2004/5] Green green grass of home!

2004

2005


Waiting to bloom, there is life in the mountains and the air breeze from the seeds enjoying it's youth.

[2005] Home Village

I always love where I grew up. My Barlig home, a village of green on planting season, a village of yellow on harvesting season. Though season changes, though time moves it's beauty never fades. Though technology and challenges confront our world I will always love this home and will continue to cherish it's influence to my childhood and youthood.

It is here where I first learned about living. Living with life.

Eastern Mountain Province

Natonin Mountain Province, Philippines. (Not Banaue of Ifugao)

In the summer of 2005 during an invitation of my cousin’s wedding that I had the chance to go to the municipality of Natonin for the third time. Riding with my dad’s motorcycle gave me the opportunity to have a view of the very beautiful ricefields of the Balangao People. Following the road towards the main village is filled with many greenfields that goes farther down. It is exhilarating as we approach the villages and houses. Very green with beautiful patterns, there are ricefields everywhere from the road. An absolute beauty! Banaue rice terraces sound very popular but this one is even more beautiful. Probably tourism has not discovered yet. This ricefields are not stone walls unlike in Barlig though. They maintain their rice granaries in the middle of the ricefields spreading down to the end of the valley. A lovely place inhabited by people smiling with red teeth. It might be far from easy life that the city can offer but here it is rich with satisfying natural beauty, filled with twice shining harvest in a year.

Community work

Barlig Mountain Province, Philippines.

“Yoyong”, one of the super typhoons hitting the country has terribly affected Manila. High numbers of displaced houses and families and floods mainly occur in capital cities and towns. However, the rural areas are no exemptions too especially when the eye of the storm has already determine to hit that place. I heard that this Yoyong has had a disastrous effect to the ricefields and properties of the Barlig people. Every year Barlig is never an exclusion of the strong winds and rain from passing storms that come across the north. I went home for a short vacation few weeks after the Typhoon came. The ricefields of Kiangaw in the west of the village has one of the greatly affected ones. One afternoon during a vigil of one of the elders in Latang, I and my uncle went to see how a family is working in their damaged ricefields in Kiangaw. It was the same spot where I usually stand and take a picture of the rice terraces of Kachattay and Tannud area. Despite the season and the damaged rice paddies, it even added to a new beauty of the overview of the mountains and ricefields. The presence of the people working is a touch of hardwork, of how ricefield maintenance could be complex. The affected family is being helped by other farmers of the neighboring ricefields. My uncle lends some help as well. The women and men are working together. As I observe and took pictures, a thought came across my mind. I am glad that up to my time, up to this modern technology and generation. This little ways of working, these skills of people before still exist now. May the bayanihan continous, and may the skill of maintenance and farming remain. When our ricefields and farms get damaged, we can’t get someone from Manila or overseas to come and fix it. This tradition is tradition and we must value by preserving our skills. It is very well wished to my mind but I don’t know what the future is. I don’t know how it would look like when this ricefields are ignored and forgotten.

[2005] Ricefield Valley

Seeding season

Fall

Childhood is a lot of memories, the good and the bad. I don’t have regrets though. Sometimes I try to forget the moments of being silly and naughty. Sometimes too, the memory chooses the strongest happiest and unhappy moments. I have a strong reminiscence on those times I go to the ricefields with my grandparents or with my parents alone. At those times, ricefields means to me as work and play, work and play. Some of those happy recollections are the days I enjoyed swimming in the mud with my cousin during our planting season, making balls from the soil and throwing with each other with my brother and sister. Our parents and older ones excuse us from these silly games as they continue the work being done. Sometimes though we are told to guard the cooking at the “Fiangaan” or the cooking area in the ricefield’ corner but we ran to the river and have a cold swim instead. There were laughs but there was also pain. Here in this photo I took in 2004, it reminds me when I fall into this site. I was small at probably 5 years old when on our way to Tannud my little feet miss a straight step in the paddy’ side. I fell down the cliffs and I my father came running down to get me. Fortunately the ricefield where I landed is dried and not wet. I cried with no injuries. Now whenever I passed by this area it brings me back to that day.