In Cebu, the sticky rice I call biko at home is called puto, the not-so-ripe papaya is eaten
with vinegar and hot chili pepper, and boiled kamote and saging na saba is
taken with ginamus. And since I try to
taste everything at least once, I took on this gastronomical adventure with the
eagerness of a child in her first field trip.
I still marvel at the immense
diversity in this small archipelago of many subcultures and regions. And although I’ve been to Cebu a number of times before, I am still amazed at the things I discover.
This reminds me of an anecdote of
PETA facilitators of old, the first few batches who went to Cebu to teach Basic Integrated Theater Arts Workshops. They asked the participants to move their
bodies like ants, “Igalaw ang katawan
n’yo na parang mga langgam!” And they did. But the facilitators were confounded at the sight of flailing arms. The participant were moving like birds
because langgam in Cebuano means
bird.
I went to Cebu to help facilitate a production workshop for a group of out-of-school youth
which is the cultural arm of Forge, an NGO that works with marginalized groups
and advocates national and sectoral issues. The theater group is called Sidlak (by the
way, I forgot to ask what it means).
My biggest obstacle was language. I tried to read their previous scripts (since
I was going to assist in the playwriting aspect), but my association with
Cebuano-speaking friends and ex-bfs wasn’t enough to get through the Cebuano
words I seldom hear. It’s at these times
that I sorely wished our electives in school consisted of local languages
instead of Spanish or other foreign ones. I felt so handicapped. Fortunately, Charmae, our ever-efficient coordinator from Cebu was – as her name suggested – so charming and wonderful to translate for
us.
As in most
workshops, I always end up learning as much, if not more than the participants
do from us, not in terms of skill, but in the same manner a person deepens her
knowledge of an acquaintance. Much of
the pre-conceived notions were torn down. For one, due to the nature of the participants, we didn’t want to use
too much board work or actual writing exercises. We counted on oral storytelling and
improvisation.
To my delight, the kids
were adept at storytelling that was full of life and not static. After improvising scenes that showed us what
made them happy, sad, afraid in or proud of their community, we scrutinized the
stories they presented. In the process,
we analyzed their situation, the motivations and limitations of why – for
instance, people were afraid of reporting rugby boys and rugby girls, or why
gang wars haven’t stopped, or why vigilante killings occur. Suspected criminals are killed
indiscriminately without due process, they say. Their analyses were sharp. Their
stories and witty side comments made me aware of a part of Cebu that I hardly heard of in the news.
These
out-of-school youth continued their education in the inner streets of Cebu – the parts that are harsh and unrecognized by most of us local tourists. One of our participants didn’t make it
because he shot someone; another attended, but just had a street fight as well
(and I believe was shot, too). Most of
the guys were thin because they drank at night (but swore they didn’t do drugs)
and hardly ate. Most of the girls and
boys were relieved because attending a live-in theater workshop meant having
three complete meals for four days. These
are people of ages 15-23, already experiencing different forms of
deprivation. All these experiences
account for the dynamic way they made a story for a dugtungan session, even if their dugtungan was a flimsy love story.
They had a frank way of dealing
with each other. In one group work, one
of the boys, for example, directly told Charmae that he wanted to trade places
with someone else in the other group. That’s because he and this other guy didn’t see eye-to-eye during
discussion. Yet, he said this in front
of that other guy, and that other guy didn’t mind. Plus after the session, they were still
friends who ate together and kidded each other. It was the kind of frank relationship I wish we all had to avoid
back-stabbing, rumor-mongering, maling
akala and perhaps organizational breakdown.
In short, bilib ako sa mga batang ito.
I would like to mention some of them… Orok,
whose name we couldn’t remember and who we would call sometimes as Okra or
Orocan or Ork (yes, from the Lord of the
Rings), was one funny guy who was always THERE in every activity… meaning his mind, spirit and body were there
focused in all the exercises. In one
group work he helped some of the girls mime playing pool. Just watching him do the gesture without any
prop convinced us he knew how to move for theater (and that he’s an expert in
billiards!). He and the other boys from
baranggay Mambaling danced, did some tumbling and some fight scenes during
breaks. They moved so lightly yet with
force that you’d think they were actually hitting each other, but they
weren’t. Potential stunt men, you’d
think? Not even some of our theater
actors in Manila could do it the
way they did.
Then there was Arnel, who claimed
he looked like Raymond Bagatsing (the thin version). He did the narration and some of the songs
for the play. He and Diboy (also from
Mambaling) made us laugh out loud when they did a salin-awit of Orange and Lemons’ “Hanggang Kailan.” For
personal reasons related to feelings of nostalgia I’d rather forget, I really
didn’t like that song. So when they
launched into its first line – the original of which is “umuwi ka na, baby” –
and sang “mamatay ka na, baby” as two guys singing during a funeral wake, I literally
rolled on the floor laughing and began to appreciate the song differently.
These guys
had a knack for salin-awit. It seems like second nature to some of them,
the way Balagtasan was probably like an everyday thing for Bulaceños in the
early years. One of the songs used as
group energizer goes, “Tayo ba’y buhay? Oo! Ipakita ang buhay! Sige!” Then spontaneously sombody sang, “Tayo ba’y
patay? Oo! Ipakita ang bangkay! Sige!”
Then there’s Mark Jill. Honestly, I thought of him as Inday Garutay
(the impersonator of Inday Badiday). But
he was one beautiful Inday Garutay with his long curly locks and smart
stance. Yep, he’s gay and proud of
it. He slept with us in our all-girls’
room, along with Jan, another gay person who loved to wear off-shoulder shirts
and padded bras. Jill was the initiator
in the group and always pushed for the issue of participatory governance. In his baranggay (not Mambaling), the
Sangguniang Kabataan only became active during fiestas and he wanted it to be otherwise.
The only female participant who
came from baranggay Mambaling (there were other female participants from other
baranggays) was Sweet. Her personality is not at all what her name
suggests. She’s one frank and mataray female who is a potential
co-facilitator. That’s because when the story-telling was getting redundant,
she’d scold the person who’s making it so and push the action forward.
Unfortunately, she never graduated high school due to – you guessed it right –
poverty.
Another participant we noted was Jayvie,
a rather good-looking boy who diligently prepared for his assigned role,
writing his part and trying his best to perform it. I heard that in Forge, he would hang around
and ask anyone if there was something he could do for them. His spirit of volunteerism runs high for
sure. Sadly, though, he’s not sure of
continuing his education. He might enter
as a janitor in Gaisano, a department store in Cebu. My co-facilitator Maribel and I kept saying,
“Kung may pera lang ako, pag-aaralin ko ang mga yan!” (Humahaba
ang listahan ng mga bibigyan ko pag nanalo ako sa Lotto.)
But I agree with what Maribel told
Charmae… if these kids couldn’t go back to school, theater should be their
venue for alternative education –studying issues, doing analyses, motivating
them to learn more and sharpen their minds. Who knows, they may become even better citizens than the “educated”
ones?
Timoy, who I heard was a shy guy four
years ago, is now a certified “tsong” kind of a guy. The thinnest and oldest, and seemingly
problematic-looking most of the time (I hardly saw him smile), he would
sometimes frown when he didn’t like the way the story was going, or if it
seemed like it was getting too far from the original intention. He was one guy who would tell you straight if
he didn’t like something or didn’t understand it. But he could be funny, too… and his
angst-ridden expression has all the makings of a very good character actor.
They were really going for a story
about vigilante killings and rugby boys. But later, the facilitators tweaked the story and directed it more into a
fantasy about non-involvement of people. We asked them to think of “what if”
situations. And we came up with one where something grave like vigilante
killing happened and all the witnesses – except for one person – didn’t care to
do anything about it.
But what we did was a comic take on
the situation. The victim turned out to
be a fairy who cursed the people for not speaking out. All the witnesses’ voices became animal sounds
except for the person who wanted to be involved. I admit the ending was cliché and still needs
a lot of development for it to reach a logical and more feasible resolution, but
considering the lack of time, the objective of the workshop was met: The participants were able to experience
writing a play and performing it. Next
step would be polishing and revising it.
Speaking of non-involvement… our
co-facilitator Cris said that on the night he got home after our Cebu workshop, he was watching “I-Witness” and found it uncanny that the episode was
all about vigilante killings in Cebu and how it has
become so rampant due to apathy. Timely talaga.
One sad fact, though, is that time
will come when they may not be able to continue their theater work. Only a few will remain, as economic concerns
become more important. I just hope that
whatever they learn here becomes imbedded in their minds and in their beings. As the Dalai Lama says, (to paraphrase) they
may forget the actual skill and the workshop, but I hope they will not lose the
lesson. I hope I won’t.
