An Ecocritical Reading of Gumercindo Rafanan’s “Kamatayon sa Suba”
Genesis Bedio

 

Abstract

This paper uses an ecocentric analysis to underscore a departure from anthropic views in Gumercindo Rafanan’s “Kamatayon sa Suba” (Death of a River). In this short story, the Tin-aw River is heavily damaged from its former pristine status as the National Power Company builds a dam to redirect this natural source. The river is a critical resource for the communities living nearby and holds historical and cultural importance to these peoples. As such, along with the cultural spaces that are bound by the cultural past, the new cultural space as the result of modernity becomes the substrate of new lifestyle, beliefs, and rituals geared towards modern consciousness.

This paper figures that water is critical for cultural spaces and memories but is also the most contested one. The paper distills further the relationship between humans and nature in terms of phenomenon-avoidance and phenomenon manipulation which clearly describes escaping nature's dangerous force and harnessing it to benefit humankind. The former ponders nature as the enemy to escape from while the latter ponders nature as resources to fathom. This study also uses the Gaia concept to discuss the brunt of punishment exacted by nature. This paper then links the subordination of nature to the treatment of women and claims that subordination worsened objectification in view of the fact that women and nature are placed at a vulnerable position when powerful elements try to reduce them to mere spectacles. Finally, this paper concludes that nature implements an ecological order which entails destruction and repudiation of control by humans to protect the natural order.

 

Keywords: ecocriticism, Gumercindo Rafanan, “Kamatayon sa Suba”, nature

Tree, Fire, and the Anthropocene in M. Bobis’s Locust Girl: A Lovesong
Bejay Bolivar

 

Abstract

Humanity’s ability to manipulate fire to produce light, heat, protection, and cook food has been viewed with ambivalence in the Anthropocene Epoch. This ambivalence is surfaced and interrogated in the dystopian novel Locust Girl: A Lovesong by Merlinda Bobis. The novel takes the fire trope as a representation of humanity’s ability to influence and control its landscape. By playing with fire, the novel presents an imagined future where humanity’s agentive presence in the planet is brought to trial. This is bolstered by the tree trope to represent an anxiety about a planetary future. Informed by Ecocriticism as a method of inquiry, the author argues that through its tropological configurations, the novel casts light on an existing ecological crisis and humanity’s potential for agency to influence the planet’s trajectory.

 

Keywords: Locust Girl, ecocriticism, Anthropocene, tropological analysis, kaingin

The Gift that Takes Away: Unboxing Alex Abellana’s “Ang Gasa” and “Ang Nagkahilis nga Lawis”
Oscar Guinto Jr.

 

Abstract

This article seeks to establish the parallelism between the actions of Alex Abellana’s protagonists in his short stories “Ang Gasa” and “Ang Nagkahilis nga Lawis” and our efforts to find solutions for the looming threat of ecological crises via Slavoj Žižek’s various critiques on ideology and Mark Fisher’s idea of Capitalist Realism. These concepts will then be used to demonstrate how the efforts to deal with ecological crises are undermined; how they become the very instruments that reinforce the system they claim to oppose and how they eventually evolve into another set of commodities that we need to consume.

 

Keywords: ecology, resistance, ideology, capitalism, capitalist realism

Ang Manok ni San Pedro (1977, Arong Brothers) From Sound to Screen: On Adaptation, Principles and Practice
Denis Judilla

 

Abstract

Originally written and directed by Marcos Navarro Sacol, the Cebuano radio drama Ang Manok ni San Pedro (St. Peter’s Rooster) was titled Ang Tawong Nakaadto sa Langit (The Man Who Went to Heaven); then the title was changed to Esteban Escudero, after its lead character. When it was broadcast in 1976, the radio drama became immensely popular with audiences. Because of its fame, the Arong Brothers produced a Cebuano-language film version in 1977 and it was commercially successful. Simultaneously, the King of Visayan Song Max Surban recorded Ang Manok ni San Pedro, the lyrics of which detail the plot of the movie. This very song became the opening theme of an eponymous Tagalog-language TV show that was broadcasted nationally by IBC13 from 1986 to 1987. In 2013, Sacol revived the narrative and its characters for an eponymous local TV series, a co-production of TV5 Cebu and IPI Pharmaceuticals. This essay will elucidate the principles and problems of screen adaptation, the creative derivation of a story or written work into a feature motion picture and television series, as observed in the case of Ang Manok ni San Pedro and its multimedia versions.

 

Keywords: Cebuano radio drama, screen adaptation, fidelity, popular narrative, film & television studies

Datu Lapulapu, A Cinematic Character Study
Denis Judilla

 

Abstract

This essay explores the key figure of Datu Lapulapu and his heroic depictions in visual and screen media. After acquainting the reader with Datu Lapulapu’s historical presence based on accounts of Pigafetta and Correa as well as notable scholars, it comments on Datu Lapulapu’s characterization in the historical fiction of Vicente Gullas and Sofronio B. Ursal. This study of Datu Lapulapu’s characterization in visual and screen media, uses as its framework the concepts of dramatist Lajos Egri and author David Corbett’ on character design and development for the stage and screen. Examples ’of such characterization are seen in the face of the 1-centavo coin, sequential komiks artwork of Carlos “Botong” Francisco, the movies Lapulapu (1955, LVN Pictures) and Lapulapu (2003, Calinauan Cineworks), the mainstream Lupang Hinirang anthem video (2010, GMA-7 Network), as a videogame character in the online battle arena game Mobile Legends: Bang Bang, and in the animated film, Elcano  and Magellan, The First Voyage around the World (2019, Elkano Dibulitoon).

Keywords: Datu Lapulapu, Philippine cinema, character design, character study, dramatic aspects

The Function of Spectral Visitations in the Early Prewar Cebuano Ghost Stories
Bea Lastimosa

 

Abstract

Stories of supernatural phenomena and spectral sightings in our local literature are not new. The oral traditions of Cebu are rife with stories of supernatural beings. This paper looks into three short stories that center on spectral visitations published in the pages of Bag-ong Kusog, 1921 to 1940. The discussion includes (1) an overview and summary of the ghost stories (Trauma: the Souls of Murdered Victims); (2) how the stories serve as sites of yearning and imagination of the pre-war Cebuano ghost story writer on the two central concepts of justice and responsibility (Failed Exorcist); and (3) the form of the ghost story narrative.

 

Keywords: prewar Cebuano literature, popular culture, ghost stories, Cebuano short stories

The Cine Anuncio in Cebu in the 1910s: A Design History
Radel Paredes

 

Abstract

It was through the anuncios in the newspapers in Cebu that the early cinema houses promoted their screenings during the American occupation. These typically included the name and location of the movie theater, the film’s source, the title(s) of the film(s), and screening schedules. In this paper, the author looks at the anuncio from a design perspective, analyzing the kind of technology used in typesetting and printing as well as the prevalent practices in advertisement production and how it reflected the stylistic trends that have influenced contemporary graphic design.

 

Keywords: anuncios, newspaper advertising, movie houses, Nueva Fuerza, printing technology

Real Estate, Rivers, and Shorelines: Development Examined in Two Ernesto Lariosa Stories
Charles Dominic P. Sanchez

 

Abstract

Recent decades have seen continued criticism leveled against notions of development that are rooted in extractivist practices and unchecked growth. Fictionists and essayists alike have long played a role in interrogating and voicing their dissent over the nation-state’s drive to develop at all costs, often at the expense of the environment and marginalized sectors. The Cebuano milieu is, of course, not exempt from this trend, with many so-called development projects being favorably eyed or eagerly anticipated by government officials, businesspersons, and regular citizens, while certain creatives take a more critical stance.

In this paper, I illustrate how the Cebuano fictionist Ernesto Lariosa questions the ostensibly positive attributes that shroud developmental ideals in two stories from his 2010 collection, Crack Shot and Other Stories. Although not without their individual flaws in light of where environmental activism and discourse is at today, “The Exchange” and “Simon’s Shore” can still be read by the Cebuano public as texts that offer alternative views to the market-driven media write-ups that downplay, overlook, or ignore the adverse effects current understandings of development have had on local ecologies.

 

Keywords: Cebuano literature, developmentalism, ecology, Ernesto Lariosa, extractivism

From Visitation to Sinister Connotations
Charles Dominic P. Sanchez

 

Abstract

Prior to the pandemic, perhaps no other word had entered into more popular usage than tokhang a policy adopted under the Duterte administration. A portmanteau of the Cebuano Binisaya words for “knock” (toktok) and “plead” (hangyo), the term was first employed exclusively by Davao police to refer to the visitation by law enforcement of alleged illegal drugs-related personalities with the purpose of persuading them to cease their illicit activities and submit themselves to authorities for rehabilitation. However, when Rodrigo Duterte assumed the presidency, and implemented the same policy nationwide, tokhang acquired more sinister connotations and may now refer to drug-related arrests and killings in general.

While some may view this metamorphosis as a pejoration of the term, American scholar and critic Kenneth Burke would likely call it “strategic naming” by a society of an unprecedented pattern of experiences. Once such a pattern is named, various attitudes toward it can subsequently develop and manifest in artworks and media produced by the society concerned, thus yielding some kind of “symbolic action.” This paper looks into how four Cebuano short stories published in Bisaya between 2017 and 2019 utilize the term tokhang within their narratives. Through such a textual analysis, the researcher has gleaned certain attitudes the authors may have regarding the term. These attitudes, besides having the potential to influence the stories’ intended readership, likely reveal as well a communal view.

 

Keywords: attitudes, drug war, Kenneth Burke, symbolic action, tokhang

Narrative Temporal Qualities in Selected Philippine Novels in English
Dagmar Inez Uy

 

Abstract

A story, regardless of its length, age of production, or the language it was written in, exists in its own sphere of time and space called a narrative temporality. This temporality expands as more people interact with it. Looking at a collection of narratives from a wider angle exposes the presence of a grand narrative or a metanarrative, which is an overarching narrative that collectively binds other narratives reflecting the shared knowledge, experiences, purposes, and goals of a people. This limited study aims to determine areas of narrative co-production within abstract space by exploring the plural notion of temporalities found in different stories within the context of a grand Philippine narrative. It attempts to expound on how experience-based storytelling is currently shaping the country’s metanarrative. The study also aspires to address the assumption of the multifaceted nature of the local narrative, despite being bound to strong traditional, visual, and spatial factors of Filipino culture. This is a comparative text-based analysis that examines narrative temporal qualities of three selected novels in Contemporary Philippine Literature in English.

 

Keywords: Banana Heart Summer, Salamanca, Smaller and Smaller Circles, metanarrative, narrative expression

“Mind-Styles” in My Sad Republic, The Firewalkers and Without Seeing the Dawn
Dagmar Inez Uy

 

Abstract

This paper investigates the concept of “mind-styles” in selected twentieth-century Philippine novels in English that present specific examples of a specific way of apprehending the fictional world. The analysis of “mind-style” provides a useful way to understand the workings of the text and to explain its effects as language constructs a point of view that systematically changes our world. The aspects of the inner lives and the constructions of the minds of fictional characters by narrators and readers are central to our understanding of how novels work and in conceptual viewpoints and ideological worldviews that characters present.

 

Keywords: mind-style, eutopian impulse, Without Seeing the Dawn, The Firewalkers, My Sad Republic

I‘m walking all
By myself all afternoon
In a wood where I
Come upon a playful tree
With a one-line poem
On its bark
That’s so fit

The line is infinitesimal
Once you’ve read it it’s gone
But I know it’s my
Poem and I have to be
Home
Before dark
To write it!

This time ascending
the staircase – and dressed to kill.
Will he see Kant’s Ding
an sich, if tongue in cheek. But
who knows? Perfect is her butt.

I’m done wishing I were there again
Before the things that happened happened,
Not that I no longer feel the pain

I’m done hoping she’ll be there again
Am I really? Shadows have lengthened
But the places and the sights remain

The golden lesson was to begin
Where, when, one asked has the fruit ripened
Is it really too late, is all gone?

The only paradise is the one
We have lost, a Frenchman said, and friend
It’s the paradise we can’t regain

Forget that life is one might-have-been
After another, we are deepened
Is consoling enough, drink your gin

And who knows that reincarnation
Is true? If I was in Samarkand?
What one was once is here and now, than
Which there’s nothing harder to explain

The versions of you
That I treasure most are three.
A water color

By a friend – guess who?
A song that can only be
By Gustav Mahler

And is. But who knew
That Einstein wouldn’t find the
Equation ever?

Contrary to your common convictions,
Our folklore is far from fabricated.
We may have no vampires or werewolves,
But an assortment of prowlers
Lurks in our nightly periphery:
Aswang, kapre, tikbalang.
A bivouac can be a bad idea.
The forest, even the open clearing,
Can be a dangerous thing.
The rustle of leaves
May not be so innocent—
Perhaps no highwaymen here,
But who put “dirt” in dirt roads?
Danger is fast approaching.
Dear stranger,
The scene must be sidestepped.
Slide into the bushes.
When you feel lost,
Best not to quicken your steps.
Turn your clothes inside out.
If you must insist,
Wear a garland of garlic.

That night the weather shall be inclement,
harsh as young, rash hearts.
Maybe it's just as well.
The open window,
at the haste of leaving,
frames thunder, lightning, rain.
When lightning flashes
the sprawl of the backyard
will be for a moment lit:
the lumber shall remain whole.
No one there tomorrow
to chop it to pieces
in the votiveness of promise.
No one, too, shall fetch
the pails of water,
one too many
even for the strength,
the sinews of youth.
When thunder
roars, the ladder
diagonal against
the wall shall topple
but it has served its purpose.
The father shall be none the wiser.
Pistol under the pillow
cushions his dreams.
The mother shall suspect nothing,
soothed by the slosh of water,
a moat around a castle,
a quicksand for any escape.
But what is this storm brewing?
When lightning flashes again,
the windowsill shall be illumined.
Something on a nail juts out:
a patch of cloth, caught,
moist, not with rainwater,
but dark, fresh blood.

Notes

The almanac referred to is The Philippine Islands by John Foreman, published in New York by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1906.

To quote James A. Le Roy (The American Historical Review, vol. 12, no. 2, 1907, pp. 388–391. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1834075), “Probably no other writer on the Philippines has so often been quoted in the United States since 1898 as John Foreman. Certainly no other has so often been made sponsor for garbled versions of Philippine history and half-truths and downright inaccuracies regarding Philippines and Filipinos.”

Will there be time to scramble for the door
When the earth gives our lives a jolt?
Get out! It's precarious on the 19th floor!

Not a wink of sleep: What lurks on the floor
Where earth won't heal a growing fault!
Will there be time to scramble for the door?

Horrifying how high-rises won't hold. Take more
Precaution, how to escape the rubble, where to bolt!|
Get out! It's precarious on the 19th floor!

The Big One is at hand. Remember the lore:
Bridges, roads, cars, all somersault.
Will there be time to scramble for the door?

Brittle, how the city will crumble. How to implore
God's mercy? Too late to confess our faults?  
Get out! It's precarious on the 19th floor!

Are you truly at God's behest, dreadful temblor?
Is there time for questions? To scatter salt?
Will there be time to scramble for the door?
Get out! It's precarious on the 19th floor!

Notes

The almanac referred to is The Philippine Islands by John Foreman, published in New York by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1906.

To quote James A. Le Roy (The American Historical Review, vol. 12, no. 2, 1907, pp. 388–391. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1834075), “Probably no other writer on the Philippines has so often been quoted in the United States since 1898 as John Foreman. Certainly no other has so often been made sponsor for garbled versions of Philippine history and half-truths and downright inaccuracies regarding Philippines and Filipinos.”

Don't say that we are agrarian.
Don't gainsay how real estate developers
have reshaped our landscape.
They take umbrage at such a remark,
move in with graders and earthmovers.
Everywhere we turn,
paddy fields have begun to darken
with upturned earth. Hematomas
on the horizon. Green is disappearing.
Otherwise, time seems at a standstill.
The grandfather clock has dozed
for days. Frozen as the clockface
at church. Our rustic disregard for time?
God as dead as time? With no attention
to detail? Why–isn't God nothing
but timeless? For our pop quiz, what day
is it today? Can anyone among us,
you ask, tell time? What arrant sarcasm!
Who cares if carefree, we sleepwalk to work?
Who demands no delays, a few minutes
give or take? Someone late for a tryst,
but no one here should be caught in traffic?
True, to our credit. Lovers love nonetheless.
We count time as we count produce.
Merchants don't quarrel over milligrams.
Commerce isn't exact science. Barter perhaps. 
For nine chicken eggs, a bottle of rice wine.
Better train the eye for approximate weights.
The weighing scales? Mere suggestions.
Even jails are. Fewer felons behind bars than vermin.
Those incorrigible recidivists. On that account,
the hospital gives me the creeps. I get nervous
with nurses. They always miss the vein by much.
They apologize profusely. I bleed profusely.
Don't think the morgues are seemingly sleepy.
What are out of business are factories.
Foundries. No smokestacks. No soot. Dust
is more universal. As long as bad weather
persists. What of the weather?
As unbearable as thick suits. The pits.
You, however, spend entire days in controlled
environments! How cool and convenient
are malls? Without electricity, siesta
or sinister thoughts! But how to think or sleep
in such a heat? Water, too, is illusory. Water
and electricity stream in paradise, sermonizes
our sweaty priest. You mean, in your city,
no lack around the clock? Take showers all day?
Read books in steady light? What tantalizing temptations!
That does it! Tip off the concierge. Leave him the keys.
Some sardines sautéed. I should be there by midnight.

Notes

The almanac referred to is The Philippine Islands by John Foreman, published in New York by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1906.

To quote James A. Le Roy (The American Historical Review, vol. 12, no. 2, 1907, pp. 388–391. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1834075), “Probably no other writer on the Philippines has so often been quoted in the United States since 1898 as John Foreman. Certainly no other has so often been made sponsor for garbled versions of Philippine history and half-truths and downright inaccuracies regarding Philippines and Filipinos.”

Before I begin my talk, I want to thank the Cebuano Studies Center of the University of San Carlos and, most especially, Bea and Hope for this wonderful invitation. I also want to thank the people I have been in touch with leading to today: Bea, Charles, and everyone behind the scenes that make events like this possible.

        When I was asked to give this talk as part of the Vicente Sotto series, I thought it would be a great opportunity to thank the Cebuano Studies Center for the huge support it has given me and my writing, especially during my latest book The Experiment of the Tropics. That book was made possible because of the Center. I was back in Cebu for the summer, and, after having received a small grant to write about the American period in Cebu, I found an excuse to pester Hope as to whether there were any archival photos at hand in the Center. I remember spending two to three straight days (right before flying out), laying out these photos on the table, taking pictures of pictures and, just to give you a sense of how fast technology has changed in just a few years, I remember taking them with my brown, digital camera, that has since been lost to a pickpocket in Europe. The Experiment of the Tropics, simply put, is a book of poems and essays that are constructed around these photographs.

        What I also thought might be good to share this afternoon are some of the things that I discovered in the writing of this book: what it meant to write from and with these photographs, what it meant to work and think about the archives, to write poetry from these images of the past, to move between eye and ear and page, to sing a song in the mind and in the face of . . . well . . . a face, a dress, the chin of a stranger, a hat.

        I have said this in previous interviews: in many ways The Experiment of the Tropics is a failure of history; or at least history as we usually understand it. I very quickly realized as I began looking at and writing about these photographs that I wasn’t too interested in the usual questions: who were these people, what were their names, when were they taken, what tree is in the photograph, whose father stands in the frame, or whether they were living or dead. You could tell all historians would be shaking their heads at this. If I were a novelist, you might say, there might have been a chance that I would have been interested in these questions — the building blocks of character and setting and plot. But I am a poet, which is a way of saying, that I am interested in sentiment and stillness, and in music. Is that the fold of a fold of a fold of a dress and the hand of a man beside it, off-center, and, blurred, is that a smirk? I see the woman, yes, but maybe we can talk about her skirt — a bit? In other words, I was interested in what my wayward eye might catch, what occupied the edges of the intention of the photograph, that fulcrum of attention, that center of the hall or the house or the living room, in other words; but is that a fan left unfurled on a chair on the side, not the face but the shoe, and what is that, and that, and that?

        Roland Barthes, the French critic, calls this the punctum, the part of the photograph that for one reason or the other, catches our attention and grips our gaze. As opposed to the photograph’s studium, its “official” meaning, the reason for its taking  a building, a mother, a group of boys, the punctum is that which locks our looking, even if it has nothing really to do with the rest of the photograph (the parting of the hair, the flaking paint off the banister) but in the manner in which the punctum punctures our very being — hurt us, if you will,  and in effect makes the photograph inevitably unforgettable. We remember most our wounds.  

        But we also, I would like to think, remember most the stories, half-told, that make up the blurry edges of what we think we know. The shadows facts make across the page — the speculations we are forced to build — because of time lost — around the documents in a museum, the photographs in a family album. We could know more. And a true historian certainly will!

        But I’m wondering about the parts of ourselves that are perfectly content with not knowing the full story. Holding the photograph in bed, flipping the face of a stranger — black and white and long dead — while we lie with our legs crossed, on some deep, deep night of no sleep, we could say “I could find out more, you know, first thing tomorrow,” but there is a part of us that also says, “Actually, I’m ok.” And I wonder if that is the part that writes the poems.

        I would be glad to talk about this more in depth later, but many of the poems in The Experiment of the Tropics interrogate some of our questions of the American Period in the Philippines. Usually taught to us as “Peace time,” writing and researching about and around this period, permitted me to revisit these assumptions and uncover through poetry the violence that permeates through this period. Photographs conceal as much as they reveal, and part of the sheen that they make both covers and uncovers the violence, the labor and the silencing that comes with the establishment of an empire. They reveal only half the story. Part of the job of poetry has always been, for me, its willingness to bear witness to the intricacies of this history. To look at the button and the hole, if you will, in the face of the dress.

        When I wrote this book, I was interested in the ways we could build on the cultural and historical institutions of Cebu. How might we respond and build on, for example, the work already paved by Resil Mojares? I was interested, especially, in the ways writing and art can build on and complicate the conversations surrounding these archival materials. The wonderful thing about things is that they are lost much longer than the circumstances that produced them. A comb lasts longer than the head of hair that may now be buried in the ground. That is the given-ness of time. What interests me then are the ways in which the archives can be seen not as repositories of the past, but as modes of talking about the present. In what ways do they reveal not facts, but ways of looking that we embody when we hold a book, gaze at photographs, or enter old houses. What is revealed about ourselves as we look into these rear view mirrors?  

        One of the pleasures of writing this book was the excuse it gave me to visit my uncle who lives in the old Ypil house in Danao built before the war. Some of us come from such houses. Sometimes we live in them. Sometimes we pass them by. It is always my hope that writing is a way of blowing the dust off the shelves a bit, causing a ruckus, tipping an old vase, asking nosy questions, tinkering with a watch that no longer works. Some of us will want it fixed. Some of us are fine just wearing it. Even if it doesn’t really tick. Write it.

Good morning, Dr. Amosa. Thank you for joining us today. In your talk “Kang Tata Kiní,” which you gave last March 21, 2022 during the Vicente Sotto Lecture Series, you shared your philosophical reflections on what being Cebuano, being Filipino, and being human means.

Good morning, Bea. Yes, it was my intent to give glimpses into Cebu in particular, the Philippines in general, and human existence on the whole. I focused my lecture on Cebu. The first part of my lecture a description of a Cebuano, and the second is a philosophical reflection on being Cebuano, Filipino and human. 

Yes, that was a very interesting talk you gave. You gave a very concise portrait of Cebu and the Cebuano.

Yes, indeed. I like to draw attention to the place first and to the people second because both always go together. At the outset, it is noteworthy that Cebu is the center of Christianity in the Philippine Islands. Cebu’s strategic location favors this. The island of Cebu is in the middle of the Visayas, the midpoint of the Philippines. And you can extend that. Vertically, the Philippines is at the heart of Southeast Asia. It is remarkable then that from the heart of Cebu, Cebu City, Christianity radiates from its Basilica Minore del Santo Niño de Cebu. Indeed, the fiesta of Señor Santo Niño brings together Filipinos and non-Filipinos from everywhere in the Philippines and beyond its shores to celebrate the Holy Childhood of Jesus the Christ. From the bottom of their hearts, they exclaim “Viva Pit Senyor!”

You mentioned that you are writing a book titled “Pagtuâng sa Ulân” with its subtitle “Ang Pilipino ug Ang Tawo sa Pamilosopiyang Pamalandong.” Can you tell us more about the book and its relation to the Cebuano people?

Well, for this book, I chose to write in Cebuano. The title can be translated as “With the Stopping of the Rain” or “When the Rain Stops.” The reason behind this Binisayâ nga pagsulát is to show that doing philosophy is possible utilizing the Sugboanon language in thinking and writing.

As an aside, Binisayâ is frequently construed as Cebuano, but the Hiligaynon and Kinaray’a of the Ilonggos are also Bisayâ. So, to avoid misunderstanding, a friend, Fr. Leonardo Mercado, SVD, Phd., a noted Filipino philosopher, suggests Cebuano Visayan as the term for the Visayan language instead of (Binisayâ). “Bisaya” by the way, comes from the word “Visayas” and Cebuano is the term for the people of Cebu, and their language. Since Cebu is Sugbo for the natives, so also its people and language is Sugbuanon. Going back to the yet-to-be published book, I do not intend to tell everything in that book. Hence, expect only highlights besides details that are not found in that book. 

 We are certainly looking forward to your book! You also mentioned that we can regard the Filipino, specifically, the Cebuano, from different but related angles, that is, as an individual, as other-oriented and as a believer. Can you expound on that?

The individual Cebuano, like other Filipinos, can be considered as a living paradox, in many of his ways. Think of this. He is friendly and hospitable but he can get uncontrollably angry and fight with unthinkable bravery, like Lapulapu from Mactan Island, driving out of the Philippines foreigners who attempted to enslave the Filipino. Here is another example of his paradoxicality. Like other Filipinos, his laughter rings loud and free, sometimes even when the situation does not call for it. This is because his sense of humor puts him above his situation, thus preventing it from breaking him. Laughter is indeed a Cebuano’s cathartic defense, especially in times of crises. 

Yes, that is true. What else characterizes the Cebuano as an individual?

Well, his speaking-tone. It is worthwhile to note that one peculiar characteristic of Cebuanos is their speaking tone. With the exception of some towns in the southern part of the island of Cebu where locals’ speaking tone rises with loose utterance, Cebuanos speak with an even tone. So, some Boholanos think that the Sugboanon is angry when hearing his hard-leveled tone and utterance. But actually, he is not angry, although his voice is not as mildly soft as the Ilonggo’s or the Tagalog’s. And by the way, when Cebuanos focus on the Boholanos in their jokes, they are not really looking down at the Bol’anon. Rather, it is actually some Sugboanons’ expression of friendship and fondness for the Bol’anon. Paradoxical again?

Besides the Cebuano’s voice intonation, there is something interesting in their utterance. In Cebu City and nearby towns and cities, some words with “l” are contracted — like sapì for salapî, wà for walâ, bay for baláy. In the towns farther from Cebu City, words with “l” are pronounced with “l” such as salapî, walâ, baláy. Actually, the contracted words are not contracted in authentic Cebuano. At present even urban Cebuanos pronounce the “l” of the words with “l. 

Yes, I agree. The Cebuano’s speaking-tone and utterance are interesting and unique. So too, are their talents.

Haha! Yes, I call it the “Sugboanon Got Talent”, which is actually the third characteristic of the individual Cebuano. Sugboanons are talented people as vividly observed in their aesthetic and culinary arts and their technical skills. Cebuanos are not behind in their cooking ability. They are best in their utan bisaya, inun’unan, escabeche, pochero, to mention just a few samples of their delicious food. The best of their delicacies are otap in Cebu City, masareal in Mandaue City, ampao and chicharon in Carcar City, torta in Argao and rosquillos in Liloan.

Their love for the beautiful overflows in the art of dancing — ballroom, like boogie, waltz, chacha and native dances like the itik-itik, tinikling, balitaw. Their aesthetic sense also finds expression in the art of acting. There was a time that Cebu had a movie industry. One unforgettable movie is Sangáng Nangabalì. Although the industry did not continue, Cebuanos continue to excel in Manila movie-world, like Gloria Sevilla, Pilar Pilapil, Vina Morales, Manilyn Reynes, Kim Chiu, Erich Gonzales, Richard Yap.

Music, whether sung or instrumental, can lift the spirit of almost every Filipino, especially in times of depression. Aside from the Katutubo and other Filipinos’ musical instruments, the guitar accompanies Filipino songs. And, take note, the guitar from Lapu-lapu City is a tourist attraction. And while Las Piñas in Luzon can boast of a 200-year old bamboo organ, Cebu in the Visayas can proudly boast of an antique pipe organ in Argao. Both organs are serving the Catholic Church to this day, except with the forty years interruption of Argao’s pipe organ. 

Yes, indeed. Singing is a language of the soul for many Filipinos. And the fame of the singing voice of Cebuanos like Pilita Corales, Vina Morales, Dulce, and Max Surban cannot be denied. Can you name some other Cebuanos who have just recently won awards in other areas?

The Cebuano skill is displayed in the outstanding performance of some Sugboanons whose talent captured the world’s notice. Naming some of them, Maxwell Soler and Miguel Ibaseta or MSquared, the guitar duo from Cebu, were acclaimed Senior Grand Champion Instrumentalists of the World in the 22nd Annual World Championships of Performing Arts.

Three grade 4 pupils from Lapu-Lapu City, Elijah Iligan, Priam Ortega, and John Cartilla, won first place in the elementary category of the 14th Philippine Robotics Olympiad in Quezon City. This is a demonstration of technical skill.

Siegfredo “Fred” Rosales Galan is the first Cebuano to win International Watercolor Competition. Mark Lloyd Belicano and Adeta Deguilmo won over 13 other finalists in the first Cebu National Painting Competition.

Ah! The individual Cebuano is a subject worth-noting. I am also curious of the Cebuano’s other-orientedness, which you mentioned as one of the other angles by which we can view the Cebuano (and Filipino in general).

Ah yes. I believe the Cebuano’s other-orientedness is manifested in their sense of humor, their kaikog and katahâ, and their family-orientedness.

That is true. The Cebuano’s sense of humor is a demonstration of his social nature. As I mentioned earlier, a Cebuano’s laughter rings loud and clear and, take note, with some exceptions, no one laughs alone. There is always someone with whom he cracks jokes, and with whom he can laugh heartily because there is something funny. A Cebuano’s social nature is explicit in his joy of being together with friends sa inuman, or in bayanihan, or in assisting in the harvest of crops. In the rural area, some women can find time for friendly conversation which sometimes swerve into tsismis.

Despite the negative aspect of some Cebuano women’s other-orientedness there are two laudable qualities that Cebuanos in general can exhibit. These qualities are expressed in two Cebuano words: “Kaikog and Katahâ.” These are best understood with some examples. A student says, “Maikog kong mohulám sa iyang libro. Naa man pud siyay exam.” A lady boarder says “maikog kong mogamit sa iyang hair brush. Dilì nyâ siya gusto ug hulamhulam.” In these two instances, the student hesitates to borrow his schoolmate’s book, the boarder to use her co-boarder’s hairbrush because “maikog” sila. What is the meaning of “maikog?” There is no accurate translation of “kaikog,” but the nearest to it is “respect.” It is “respect” of the right of one’s fellowman. Anyone who does not show this delicate quality will elicit the public’s censure, hearing the words “waláy kaikog.”

“Katahâ” is another untranslatable Cebuano word, but again nearest to it is “respect.” It is experienced between unequals — unequal in personal, social, financial standing in the community. Listen to this. “Katahaân kaayo nâ siya oy. Layô man gud siya ug naabót sa kinabuhì.” Or, “dili ta makig’indig kaniya kay taás ra kaayo na siya. Dili ‘ta angay.” “Let us not compete with her because she is too high for us” — perhaps financially or in social status (silang gitawág ug mga inilá sa katilingban) or in beauty. “Matahâ” sila moduol sa ila. Pananglit, matahâ sila moduol sa Presidente.”

“Kaikog” and “katahâ” permeates Sugboanons’ co-existence, who know how to respect one another.

These qualities you discuss are very familiar.

Then you will certainly find even more familiar the third characteristic of the Cebuano other-orientedness — family-orientedness. One very heartwarming attitude of Filipinos generally and Cebuanos particularly, is their love for education. Financially average Cebuano families think of education as their only legacy to their children, such that they go to the extent of selling their coconuts or getting a loan with their coconuts as collateral.

There are Cebuanos who look beyond the shores of the Philippines to fight poverty at home by working abroad. But of course, other Cebuanos venture out of the Philippines not because of poverty but for the sake of family improvement and for sharing their talents in countries beyond the Philippine Islands. 

This quality of other-orientedness in Cebuanos is something that I hope will be preserved in the generations to come.

Yes, as well as the third quality of the Cebuanos, which I like to call the “Believing Sugboanon.” The Philippines is a free country and the Filipinos, particularly Cebuanos, are free people. This explains the Sugboanons’ freedom of worship aside from other freedoms. The Cebu skyline glitters with churches, temples, mosques. The Taoist Temple of the Taoists at Beverly Hills dazzles the eyes of many. Although the Hare Krishna Paradise of the Hindus, the Chu Un Temple of the Buddhists and the Cebu Green Mosque of the Muslims are not dazzling, it cannot be denied that they influence the lifestyle of several Cebuanos. In the midst of all these religions, Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Christianity stands out, and among Christians, Catholics because they constitute the majority.

While the Philippines is acclaimed as the cradle of Christianity in Asia, it is also truly the cradle of religious vocations kay dinhi natawo ang daghang tawág-tubág sa pagkaparì/for it is here that many call-reply to live the religious life take place.

Besides Diocesan Seminaries that prepare young and no-longer young men to be pastors for parishes, innumerable missionary Religious Orders for men and women exist in the Philippines. Aside from the Trappists in Guimaras island, Iloilo, some of these are Societas Verbi Divini (SVD), Missionaries of the Sacred Heart (MSC), Congregatio Sacratissimi Redemptor (CSsR), Order of Saint Augustine (OSA), Order of the Recollects of Saint Augustine (ORSA), Society of Jesus (SJ), Order of Preachers (OP), and the Missionaries of Our Lady of Africa (MOLA). Or as more popularly known, Redemptorists, Augustinians, Jesuits, Dominicans, Columbans, Pasoíonists, Benedictines, Franciscans, Carmelites, Rogacionists, Piarists, Escolapios, and many more, not mentioning the Religious Brothers.

Along with missionary Religious Orders for women, there are two Contemplative Congregations in Cebu City, the Carmelites and the Holy Spirit Sisters of Perpetual Adoration, popularly known as the Pink Sisters.

The Philippines can boast of Filipino-founded congregations. These are MSP (Mission Society of the Philippines) founded by CBCP in 1965 in the celebration of the Quadricentennial of the Christianization of the Philippines to prepare Filipinos as missionaries to neighbor countries, RVM (Religious of the Virgin Mary) whose foundress is Venerable Mother Ignacia del Espiritu Santo, DST (Daughters of Saint Therese) whose founder is Bishop Teofilo Camomot, LGC (Living the Gospel Community) with its founder Msgr. Frederick Kriekenbeek.

It is interesting how Philippine languages converge in Cebu City. In one Formation House, it is possible to hear seminarians speaking this language — Kapampangan from Pampanga, Ilocano from Ilocus Sur, Tagalog from Bulacan, Hiligaynon from Negros Occidental, Chavacano from Zamboanga while learning Sugboanon from the Cebuanos. 

Other than these different religious orders, what else characterizes the believing Sugbuanon?

Well, two things – the fiesta and their devotions to the Santo Niño. Almost all Filipinos love to celebrate the culmination of celebration, which is the fiesta. Throughout the year in the Philippines, fiestas are celebrated in different places at different times although at present the celebration is limited to the minimum because of the Covid-19 Pandemic.

Why is the fiesta special for Filipinos, particularly for the Cebuanos? Why the celebration? Is it to show off their spending capacity, or to celebrate with friends, or to have a time-out from the boredom of a work-a-day life, or to return the invitation to a friend’s fiesta? No one can read the heart of a person, so no one can give a categorical answer.

Indeed, fiesta is a happy overflow of a Cebuano’s belief in the presence of God in his life throughout the year. While there are novena Masses in preparation for the fiesta, in the towns, the heart of the fiesta is the Holy Mass in its “Kahulugan.” What does “kahulugan” mean? “Kahulugan” sa Cebuano signifies “Meaning.” Ug ang “Kahulugan” sa fiesta, the meaning of the celebration is “thanking God for the blessings and graces received all year round through the Patron Saint.”

Time and again Catholics are reminded to grow in their Christianity. This reminder comes especially during the up-coming celebration of Fiesta Senyor. But come to think of it, are the devotees really behind in their religious growth? Perhaps there are some devotees who are childish in their thinking. Nevertheless, the others have grown up although they stay childlike. They think that there is nothing wrong with celebrating the Holy Childhood of Jesus.

Is it thinkable for an adult to place all his trust and confidence in a child? Yes, it is possible. Because of his paradoxical nature, an adult Cebuano is able to see the paradox in the Holy Child. Yes, he is helpless because He is a Child; but He is powerful and merciful. These are depicted in his image, a crown on His head, a scepter in one hand and holding the world in the other hand. So, the childlike devotee will find it easy to surrender himself (moampò ngadto sa Batà / ampo meaning surrender) to the care and protection of a powerful helpless Child. Thus, in the Fiesta Senyor, the devotees trustingly exclaim “Viva Pit Señor, Kang Tata kiní,” “Pit Senyor, Kang Nanay Kiní,” “Pit Senyor, Kang teacher Kiní.” They pray not only for themselves but also for others. What does “Pit” in “Pit Senyor” signify? It can mean “Hail” in (Hail, Lord!). But it can also mean “Sangpit” or “Call.” We “call You Lord”/ “Pit Senyor!”

Meanwhile, devotees know also that Jesus has grown up and redeemed mankind. Hence, they enter into the spirit of Lent in a repentant mood, while eagerly anticipating Easter Sunday and happily rejoice in the risen Lord.

In your lecture, I was particularly interested in what you described as a philosophical reflection on the Cebuano as human being and as Filipino. Thinking of the Cebuano as a human being, he can be seen in three areas – that is, he is unique (individual), social and believer.

Yes, that is correct. In the first place, is the Cebuano aware that he is a unique (individual)? Maybe there are Cebuanos who live their life without thinking of their singularity (uniqueness). Nonetheless, there are Sugboanons who are aware that they are individual. How do we know this? Listen. Someone is praised for his outstanding success. And he remarks jokingly: “Akò na gud ni. Ikáw na lay mag’akò!” “This is me. No one else can be me.” If this is not consciousness of his being individual, what is it?

Concomitant with being individual is human freedom. Is a Filipino, particularly a Cebuano, conscious that he is free? For a Cebuano who is aware of this, what does he understand by being free? Based on his experience, he is free to speak what is right; he is free to love and build a home; he is free to believe in God; not to mention other examples of his many freedoms. What, then, is his understanding of freedom? Similar to the Thomistic meaning of freedom, it is the absence of restraint — physical, moral, psychological restraints. Physical, when there is no physical barrier that prevents his actions. He is free when there is no moral barrier, that is, no law that forbids his doing the good and right. He is free because there is no force within him that compels or prevents his actions.

The absence of these three barriers is displayed in the liberation of the Filipino by Lapulapu in Mactan island, Cebu, Dagohoy in Bohol, Bonifacio and company in Manila, Rizal in Zamboanga from the Spaniards; by the heroes in Eastern Samar driving out the Americans; by McArthur with some Igorots (Ifugaos); and by the heroes honored in Dambana ng Kagitingan in Mariveles, Bataan, and Pendatun in Mindanao, leading American and Filipino Christian and Muslim soldiers against the Japanese.

A Cebuano’s awareness of his freedom is evident also when someone does wrong and he is told: “Tubagon mo ang imong binuhatan." “Barugan mo ang imong gisulti." “You must answer for what you did." “You must stand by what you said." If anyone is held responsible, it must be because he did his actions on his own free will. He could have chosen to refrain from doing or saying what is blameworthy. 

Are there other meanings of freedom?

Without going it straight to the answer, let me say that a Cebuano’s humanness is at the root of his individualness, and being individual, he is irreplaceable. As an individual in society, is a Cebuano aware of his irreplaceability? Although there are Cebuanos who are not conscious of their singularity, who are lost in the community, thinking and doing what everyone else thinks and does (as noted by Martin Heidegger, a German Existential philosopher), there are also Cebuanos who are aware of their uniqueness and, because of this, think that they are irreplaceable.

It is precisely because he knows that he is irreplaceable that a Cebuano recognizes his being responsible for his doings and non-doings, his commissions and omissions. No one else did or did not do the act because no one else can be him.

Let us reflect on the following instances of irreplaceability. In a barkada's party, everyone enjoys singing, dancing, joking. Suddenly, one of them asks: “Where is Michael? Why is he not around?" The question breaks the empty atmosphere that has meanwhile overshadowed their boisterous laughter. Gabriel breaks the silence saying “Don't worry, I'll be your partner in the dance," assuring Michael's dance-champion best friend. Wivina sighs saying, “No, no one can take Michael's place.” Here is another instance. The CEO asks: “Where is Raphael? I don't see him around." “Salthiel is a more competent substitute," confides the CEO's assistant. “No, it is really different when it is Raphael on the job." Yes, they are irreplaceable (the incommunicable I in the thinking of French existential philosopher, Gabriel Marcel). Like the Master Carpenter or the Master Chef, his magic touch is his alone.

In the second place, as individuals co-exist, freedom is implicit in their social relations. Moreover, besides the aforementioned meaning of freedom, as absence of restraint, freedom is also a response. It makes a human being, particularly a Filipino and Cebuano, not only responsible for his acts but also a responsible person. For as Robert Johann in his article “Way to Freedom” says, to be free is to be response-able, that is, the “ability to give a fitting response to the objective demand of the situation.” A responsible human being acts not because he feels like doing it (kay ganahan lang) but because it is the fitting requirement of the situation. That is why good Filipinos and Cebuanos are irritate by the irresponsible behavior of irresponsible persons.

In addition, freedom also means the ability to choose to be one’s self, in the thinking of Rollo May in his book Man’s Search for Himself. Freedom, then, has an essential role in oneself and in one’s relation with others. 

So, a Cebuano’s consciousness of their singularity leads to a consciousness of their irreplaceability. This, in turn, leads to a recognition of his responsibilities.

Yes, reflections of both lead to a sense of responsibility. In the third place there is the believing Cebuano. Is there any Cebuano who questions God's existence? Aside from being a philosophical issue in the classroom for students in philosophy, for many Cebuanos God's existence is only natural. Debates aired by some radio stations or televised by some channels circle in on the issue of religion. So, God's existence is already a given, especially for Catholics who grow up already baptized when they were yet babies. And so, without catechesis, there are some who are only nominal Christians while others become practicing Catholics.

It is when something goes wrong in their life, something they cannot accept, that God's existence becomes very real. There are some who ask “Nganong akò man?", “Why me?" There are those who get angry at God or change their religion or become atheists.

Nonetheless, there are Cebuanos who after a crisis in their life, try to move on and become more trusting in God. They are the ones who must have found the secret to survival. They emerge unbroken from their crises because of their sense of humor and their doing of “nayanaya,” which is made more effective by prayer. “Nayanaya,” by the way, is the practice of “whiling away the time" while the storm in one's life is raging wild. Singing, gardening, stamp collection, photography, prayer, travel are forms of “nayanaya.”

Hence, for many Cebuanos, God is present in their lives. Although there are some of them who make excuses when they commit mistakes, by saying “sapagkat kami ay tao lamang," “because we are only human," the others' conscience is so delicate that when they do wrong, they can hardly forgive themselves, sometimes losing their appetite for food and cannot move on. They are lucky to have friends who assist them rise to their feet by telling them “masayóp man ganì ang kalabáw nga upát ang tiíl, ang tawo pa?" “Even the four-legged carabao stumbles, how much more possible for man with only two feet?" 

Thank you very much, Dr. Amosa, for these reflections on the Cebuano as a human being and as a Filipino. Is there anything else you want to add before we end?

Thank you, Bea. I would like to emphasize that despite the dangers in Cebu and the bad elements that are lurking in Cebu City, I have portrayed Cebu as good, beautiful and wonderful. With the exception of the Tagalog, Ilonggo and Katutubo's native speech, is it any wonder that in almost every province of Mindanao, the language spoken is Cebuano? Thank you! 

Wala siya makasabut, wala siya makasabut sa iyang gibati. Sukad pa lamang niadtong adlaw nga didto siya sa usa ka sawang, sa usa ka wanang daplin sa usa ka dakung linaw, didto kadtong pagbatia mosulod sa iyang dughan. Kagil-as, kamingaw, kangul-ngol, kalaay; unya, mokalit pag-ilog ang kabinam ug kadasig; dayon mobalik ang kalaay, kangulngol, kamingaw, kagil-as. Wala siya makasabut, wala siya makasabut niadto.

        Wala pa mosubang ang kabugason sa iyang pagpungko sa ganghaan sa langob nga ilang gipuy-an. Ang iyang mga ginikanan maayo pa nga panghinanok didto sa sulod. Mipungko siya didto nga sayo kay lagi kadtong kagil-as sa iyang lawas mipukaw kaniya sa iyang paghinanok. Kawang lamang ang iyang tinguha sa pagpadayon sa iyang katulog.

        Taliwala sa kamingaw ug kangiob sa lasang nga iyang giamboan, nabati niya ang tingog sa kalaw. Kadto sa wala madugay gitubag sa tinugaok sa mga manok ihalas. Unya, mitikyop ang kahilum nga magisi lamang sa kinanaas sa mga dahon sa kakahoyan nga dagpason sa huyuhoy sa kaadlawon.

He did not understand, he did not understand what he was feeling. Since that day when he was in a valley, in that space by the side of a large lake, it was there that the feeling had sunk in his breast. Discomfort, loneliness, pain, boredom then longing and enthusiasm suddenly took over. But then, the discomfort, loneliness, pain, and boredom returned. He did not understand, he did not understand what it was.

        The morning star had not risen yet when he squatted by the mouth of their cave. His parents were still fast asleep inside. He had squatted there early, because the discomfort he had felt in his body woke him up from his deep slumber. His desire to continue sleeping was useless.

        Amidst the silence and the gloom of the forest he had overviewed, he heard the voice of a hornbill. Soon the wild cocks replied by crowing. Then, silence followed which was broken only by the rustling of the leaves of the trees caressed by the breeze of dawn.

Nagbubakintol ang diyep nga wala milmahi pagdagan suot sa kalubihan ug tadlas sa mga laguna; ug ang mga baka ug kanding nga malinawon untang nanibsib sa mga lawos nga kogon, balili ug bungot-bungot nakugang sa kahadlok ug mialibwag pagpanglikay. Usa ka kanding baye, tungod sa hilabihan niyang pagpunat ug dagan aron pagpalayo gikan sa naghagiyos nga kadaut, nabulintang ug milugatob sa dihang hipugngan sa malig-ong lugway nga gihigut sa punoan sa lagnob. Ang diyep mikalit paghunong sa paghiabut sa usa ka masigpit nga nataran sa usa ka balay nga nagaharag ug nagakagidlay na sa kadaan.

        Nanaug ang usa ka ambongan ug batan-ong lalaki nga nag sul-ob T-shirt nga puti, kalsonis nga masinaw ug maayong-pagkautaw nga kaki diin sa bulsa sa samput migawal ang maitum nga puloan sa pistola. Ang kahimsog sa iyang lawas milutaw sa iyang undanon nga dughan ug nagaburot nga mga paa. Mihunong si Guy sa sukaran sa hagdanan nga binuhat sa gansal-gansalong mga bakhaw kansang pipila ka ang-ang nangatuay na gikan sa ilang mga tinagkosan; ug unya nanghatag ug katahuran. Ang tibuok ug nagdahunog nga tingog nga nagaumol sa “Maayong adlaw” gitubag sa putpotak sa usa ka himongaan nga milugpad gikan sa sagbayan sa balay.

        Namati si Guy kon wala bay tingog sa tagbalay, gawas sa nagyagawng putpotak sa mga manok sa silong, ang motubag sa iyang timbaya. Wala. Gibungat niya pag-usab, sa labing daku pa nga tingog, ang iyang pangatahuran. Putpotak! Putpotak! Putpotak! Ang mga manok ray naningog. Hain ba kaha kining panuway nga si Zosimo? Ang usa ka dakung buslot sa tak-op nga amakan sa pultahan sa balay ingon sa midapit kang Guy sa pagpasaka aron silibon ang hawanan.

The jeep rambled unevenly, not slowing down as it passed through the coconut groves and across the meadows; and the cows and goats that were peacefully eating withered cogon grass, carabao grass and weeds jolted in fear and dispersed in different directions. A female goat, due to her fast speed when running to avoid the surging danger, stumbled when restrained by a strong tether tied to the trunk of a lagnob. The jeep suddenly stopped when it arrived at a narrow yard of a house that is leaning and dilapidated being old of structure.

        A handsome, young man who was wearing a white T-shirt and well-pressed khaki pants where the black handle of a gun stuck out of his back pocket, with its black hilt sizable in sight. The wellness of his body was obvious with his full chest and his bulgy legs. Guy stopped at the base of the stairs made of rough bakhaw of which some steps were already detached from their stands; and then he gave his respects. A roaring voice called a greeting of “Good morning” was answered by the cackle of a hen that flew from the beam of the house.

        Guy listened for a voice coming from the owner of the house, apart from the noise of the cackling chicken under the house. Nobody sound answered his greeting. He spoke in a louder voice his greeting. Putpotak! Putpotak! Putpotak! Only the chickens replied. Where could this devil, Zosimo, be? A large hole in the amakan¹ door of the house seemed to invite Guy to climb up to peep at the living room.

1 Bamboo matting