When
my Nanay Ines invited me one summer day in her nipa hut in Guyangan
hill, she took me by my hand to her backyard where a betel tree was
heavy with fruit; its trunk laced with buyo vine. She said, "The
tree's major contributions to Romblon's languages are two words: mama
(to chew) and mam-on (quid)"
I really didn't
know what she was talking about (I learned the nuances of the verb
mama, and the noun quid later on). "Have you ever chewed?"
she asked. "No," I replied. My Nanay Ines squatted on the
bamboo floor and split opened a ripe betel fruit. She took a small
portion of the meat, placed it on a fresh buyo leaf and sprinkle it
with lime made of burned cowry shells. Then she wrapped the ingredients
with the buyo leaf slowly until she fashioned a small packet. "This
is mam-on", she said, handing the wad to me. "Now chew."
I did. No one
in his right mind should disobey my Nanay (Aunt) Ines. Chewing was
easy - that what was I thought. Then I started feeling a little bit
dizzy, then I thought the mam-on was too bitter to my taste that I
spit it out hitting my Nanay Ines on her face.
But she didn't
get mad. "Simpling (my real name is Simplicio), you do not know
your history. Now, sit down and listen."
"The mam-on
was with us before the coming of the Kastila, the Amerikano and the
Japanese. See, my grandfather told me that his folks chewed because
it was considered a social grace at that time. My grandfather told
me that to offer a mam-on partially chewed was an act of flirtation;
to send one in a response to a man's clandestine request was an acceptance
of his advances; to send it unbidden was an open invitation. Simpling,
when you are big enough and start chasing the girls in town, remember
the mam-on...and my
advice: never wrap a quid with a buyo leaf harvested from another
tree...huwad 'yun. Finally, never spit on a woman's face!"
I never was successful
in chasing the girls in town with my mam-on. The girls chose instead
the local bibingka and the sarsaparilla. I told my Nanay Ines about
this and she dismissed me by saying, " Bah, when did Simpling's
family become losers? Keep trying you idiot."
So, here I am
- me and my mam-on, again. I promise to wrap it with a buyo leaf growing
on the same trunk of the betel tree and won't spit it out on anyone's
face. If it's partially chewed, perhaps I'm flirting with ideas; If
not, then I could be wrong. But most of the time, my mam-on is unbidden
which means you may take it or leave.it. : )
++++++
My Manong Olaw
is one of cockfigting's afficionados in my town. I learned a lot from
him especially when he brought me in the cockpit and introduced me
to the "kristo" - you know the guy who took bets. I saw
the Mayor there, the councilors, my Grade Five teacher, our parish
priest Fr. Raymundo, the mananguete, and even Manang Candida who is
a member of the Hermanas de Maria. I fell in love with the "kristo"
immediately. This love at first sight was exceedingly rewarding for
I learned how he (the "kristo") remembered every penny of
anyone's bet (pusta) and when the "sultada" (cock fight)
was over, not one single man cheated on his bet! Fr. Raymundo was
so impressed that in one of his sermons in the old church he said
that the only place in the Philippines nowadays where honesty still
dwells, is in the buyangan (cockpit).
Back to Manong
Olaw. In a way I felt sorry for him. It seemed he started raising
fighting cocks. Every morning he could be seen fondling and massaging
the legs of his cocks - about three of them. He would blow smoke from
his cheroot and dreamed of winning the championship "buyang"
in the coming fiesta. But one morning, I saw Manong Olaw running for
his dear life; his wife on his heels wielding a sharp bolo screaming,
"You never pay attention to my legs anymore."
