INCA and the Mariit Wildlife Conservation Center

I planned this post to be titled Lambunao's Wilds as I was really planning to write about our encounter with the wild side of Lambunao, a second class municipality in central Iloilo. (The municipality is about 48 kilometers from Iloilo City and is known for its mountainous terrain, thick forests, countless waterfalls, and its hidden tourist draw - a 7-hectare mountaintop lake popularly known as Tinagong Dagat.) But after my initial scribblings about the Mariit Conservation Center, I ran out of words. Or I was just too lazy to write further. But as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. So, there. I'll just give you the pics and a short caption... and just let your imagination run wild and free. Just like the wilds of Lambunao.

The Iloilo College of Agriculture (INCA) campus may just be near. But it’s surprising that only a few of the local adventure seekers have discovered the beauty and challenges within the hundreds of hectares of campus. And this is not an ordinary campus, because aside from the school, within the campus are mountains of virgin forests, some waterfalls, endemic animals, a wildlife conservation center, and of course human settlers.

(Top photo) The main building of the Iloilo National College of Agriculture, now West Visayas State University - College of Agriculture and Forestry. (Above photo) Entrance to the Mariit Wildlife Conservation Center.

INCA is about ten kilometers from the poblacion of Lambunao, Iloilo. The roads are winding and Baguio-like and it could be hard to travel to this area during the rainy season. No wonder, the college just catered to just over 200 students. But by now, the roads are being paved. Thanks to the election season and to the mole of Gloria Arroyo plastered in big billboards along the way.

Flowers bloom inside the INCA campus - lirio (L) and madre de cacao blossoms (R).

But setting the road aside, INCA is the best location for those taking up BS in Agriculture and BS in Forestry. The place is just a gigantic greenhouse where plants would grow in ideal environment. And even if surrounded with a mountainous jungle and far from the poblacion, INCA is safe as there is a small community of settlers and professional staff and academics living nearby. And a military infantry station is visible in the tallest promontory as a 24/7 security blanket over the campus.

In our INCA adventure last weekend, my group of adventure seekers which was composed of my extended family, stayed in one of INCA’s fully equipped guest houses. Guests can select from among the many airconditioned or fan rooms for a nominal fee. We settled for the fan rooms, as we really planned to sleep in tents. The caretaker, a BS Hotel and Restaurant Management student of INCA, was at hand to prepare our food if in case we asked. In the evening, we told the kids stories about ghosts to spook them to sleep early.

Early, the next morning we jogged along the paved roads around the school buildings. The air was crisp and the low clouds still hovered about the trees. The grasses were wet with dew which was somehow uncommon to city dwellers like us. Behind the thin fog, we could see far away children grazing their carabaos. It was a nostalgic sight. It was the first morning I haven’t heard a sound of a motor vehicle.

Early morning at the INCA campus is bucolic indeed. The promenade invites joggers (top). Children enjoys grazing an albino carabao (photo above).

We headed to the nearby Mariit Wildlife Conservation Center (mariit is a Kinaray-a word which means enchanted). It was no less than the center’s Director, who toured us around. Good thing about the smalltown ambience. There was no such thing as protocol.

The Director informed us that they only allow visitors inside the center early in the morning during feeding time. Otherwise, the center was off-limits because it was breeding season for the animals.

(Photos from the top) The Mari-it center was the first in the world to successfully breed the Dolongan hornbill; the Tariktik hornbill; sections in the center are reserved for petting wild animals like the wild boar; and the spotted deer. 

The center have Dolongan and Tarictic Hornbills (kalaw), Arrow-tail Parrot (pikoy), White-spotted Deer, Wild Boars, Cloud Rats, Leopard Cat (singarong) and other species they rescued from the wild. We were informed that the center was the first in the world to successfully breed in captivity the Dolongan hornbill.

But our main purpose to venture into this side of Lambunao was to climb the mountains to see its waterfalls.

We started our mountain trek towards the waterfalls on a light note - everybody thought it would just be a walk in the park. Especially with the sight of wild flora never before seen by anyone of us.

But the trek turned into a challenge of endurance as we climbed 75-degrees mountainsides with nary a footpath to follow nor a handlebar to hold unto. We thought that after the initial climb, the top was already the place where we can finally sit and rest to behold the waterfalls we were looking for. But no, not yet. We had to descend to the other side at the same scary angle, and cross the extension of the same watery ledge we left. The climb was just a short cut, as we were told that if we went ahead to follow the creek, it was going to be harder and more dangerous especially to the kids.

And there were more ascents and descents at belabored pace. Many complained that we shouldn't have jogged early in the morning to prepare for this challenge.

I stayed at the tailend of the group as we climbed singlefile, not because I was holding the camera, but because I would like to be there to break the fall of anybody, especially the kids, if they happen to fall, slide or roll down accidentally. On the way down, I would also go down first, not just to record on cam the agony of the old and the excitement of the young, but also to be ready to catch whoever may thought he or she had some powers to roll at high speed in such a steep incline.

And the waterfalls, at last...

The view was fantastic and mesmerizing. But we had to beware of wet or moss covered rocks. They were slippery.

The INAS (Iloilo National Agricultural School, old name of INCA) Falls was nearer and conveniently situated. But the kids thought it was less attractive because getting there was less challenging.

The end of our mountain trek was Montillano Falls. It was refreshing to see until other groups arrived for a swim. We lit some charcoal to grill fish and chicken for our lunch. While we watched over the kids as they swam at the foot of the waterfalls, we gathered plastic wrappers of candies, chips, shampoo, cigaretes, etc., scattered along the banks and threw them into a nearby unused barbeque pit. We were warned beforehand by some people in INCA about the trash. Nevertheless, it was good to be in the area as we did some cleaning. But, as soon as most of the plastic wrappers disappeared from view, another batch of newly thrown wrappers littered the place. No, the other people in the vicinity didn't think of us as paid janitors to clean up their mess. It seemed it was just their habit to throw their garbage anywhere. I overheard some of the ladies saying they were working with a bank in Iloilo City. And bank employees have this dispecable habit? We pitied the place.

Inspite of the difficulties we encountered in our forays into the wilds of Lambunao, the kids seemed to love the experience. They kept on retelling their embarrassing moments as they clambered on mountain sides and the joys and novelty of swimming below the waterfalls. But as we left Lambunao, we saw this unsettling sight - a kaingin or what used to be a wooded mountainside that was burned and cleared for agriculture. The kids were thankful we had experienced Lambunao's wilds before these too are turned into a barren kaingin.@

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Bermejo Street

Note: This is a repost. Originally posted on July 23, 2009, 10:35pm.

This is Bermejo Street in the Municipality of Cabatuan, Province of Iloilo. The picture was taken by my nephew from near our ancestral house towards the direction of the parish church. He took the picture possibly because he would like to record the street where he spent his years from the time he was a baby to the time, at 17 years old, he left for the United Kingdom where he would study and, probably, where he would stay for good.

The street is the main street in Cabatuan. It is a commercial area and pass-through for vehicles going to Janiuay in the north and to Iloilo City in the south.

Bermejo St. was also the street where my siblings and I spent our early years. The street then was narrower and, as there were fewer vehicles at that time, it was also a place where we played. I remembered a bus nearly ran over me. The bus was discharging passengers near where we were playing. Then a friend ran after me and my brother. I ran to the street. Then I just saw a blur of colors - the same colors as the side of the bus. People shrieked and cried. The bus stopped. The passengers stood and shouted that the bus nearly killed a boy. Some passengers pointed at me while others pointed at my brother. Some neighbors were hysterical. They said I was pale and I might black-out. Others shouted that I be given warm water to drink. While the old women pulled their rosaries and thanked heavens that nothing untoward happened to me. Amidst all this hoopla, I was quiet on the lap of my grandmother. I never understood the concern and the attention I got. Then my mother, who was a teacher, came home. She got a plastic belt and gave my bottom a lashing. She only stopped when I promised never to play on the street again.

I kept my promise for about a week. After that, it was again playtime on the street.

During those times, there was no electricity. People used kerosene lamps. We had Petromax which shone like daylight bulbs. On moonlit nights, we played hide and seek, ens-ens, tumba patis, tumba preso and told stories about aswang, kapres, and murtos. Many times we just lay down on the asphalt and counted the stars; or pointed at a star we wanted to visit when we grew up. At that time, we had heard that a man named Armstrong had already visited the moon. When a vehicle passed, we scamperred to hide because we were informed that some people in vehicles stole kids at night which they used as offerings in some sugar centrals - ginadaga. But we completely stopped our nightouts after a passenger jeep jumped into an abyss. Many passengers from Cabatuan died. After the accident, people said they heard sounds of shoes as ghosts wearing high heeled shoes roamed the streets at night. When old folks shouted 'Steel heels!', kids like us cowered in fear.

The street changed a bit when electricity came. The nights were brighter. And there were more night people. I remembered one Christmas time. We had a Christmas tree made of wood branches wrapped with white crepe paper. My mother bought some Christmas lights and we placed them on our Christmas tree. Ours was the only house on the street with Christmas lights. So, in the evenings our playmates would come near our house and shouted 'Siga!' when the lights were on and 'Patay!' when the lights were off. Everynight we would hear 'Siga! Patay! Siga! Patay! etc.'


There were only two houses on the street with a television set (maybe, the whole of Cabatuan had only 5 TV sets). In the evenings, people went to these houses to watch TV shows. People sat on the floor, on window sills, atop fences, and nearby tree branches just to have a glimpse of the TV screen. Only the dear friends of the house owner got to sit on the chairs positioned in front of the TV sets. For us kids, we watched through slats or holes on the walls. Sometimes we were lucky to know the owner of the next house. So my friends would sit near the window which overlooked towards the sala of the next house with TV. I liked this arrangement. But I was not watching TV. I was looking across the kitchen of the house with TV. The TV owner was having dinner of plates of rice, and pork adobo. Everynight, he had pork adobo with another viand. His table had so much. While we only had baringon and lamayo. The following day, we talked about the previous night's show. We memorized even the advertisement. Those who had not watched the show looked so miserable and dirt poor because they lived far from the house with a TV set.

When we were older, we used to tambay on the corner of Estrella-Bermejo Sts. We talked about school, friends, and the latest cool music. The most adventurous among us were smoking Layebana and drinking lapad. Addicts and rapists were only on the pages of newspapers.

Bermejo St. from the same spot near our house, towards the direction of Janiuay. The far green wall to the right of the street is Cabatuan National Comprehensive High School.

Today, Bermejo St. is indeed different from the one I knew in the past. The houses are different, the residents are different. Where before there were only vacant lots, now there are already commercial buildings. Before I knew all the tambays. Now, I feel like I am a stranger in my former tambayan. The nights are so dark, even with electricity, that people seem afraid to venture out. And not because of aswangs or Steel Heels.

It was sad that I had no camera before to capture the street I left years ago. I feel sad that I can't show a hard copy of the street I knew, when the familiar faces were still around.

But I feel happy that my nephew had a picture of the street he knew. Years from now, he will return a different person - older, wiser, well-travelled. Bermejo St. will be different by then. The people will be different.

Or possibly, he will never return. But a picture will help make remembering easy. Bermejo St. will continue to be part of him. I am sure my nephew will be happy to reminisce the years he spent in that street, when life was simple and when his uncle was around. @

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Savannah!

I could easily discern the frenetic developments in Iloilo through the many infrastructures - roads, buildings, bridges, etc. - currently under construction. But with the developments are some changes in the suburban make-up that could be somehow unsettling. I am referring to the number of subdivisions that dot the periphery of the city. The sprawling subdivisions with their impressive entrances, clubhouses, and model houses were some sights to behold. But I've always wondered at the price Ilonggos have to pay, not for the residential lots inside these subdivisions, but for the displaced farmers and the agricultural produce lost in the hundreds of hectares of arable lands, some irrigated, turned residential. How many tons of rice have been lost in the name of development?

I remember the years when I was an undergraduate student. When I went home from Iloilo City to my mother's house on weekends, I could see the fields beside the highway bursting with rice during the rainy season, and with watermelon and tomatoes during the summer months. The fields were awashed with the colors of the crops the farmers were planting.

Not anymore! Now, the fields previously colored with the produce of the local farmers are gone. There are now colors of the flaglets to mark the frontage of the subdivisions. And the palatial houses within are colorful indeed.

Herewith is an article I've seen in the newpaper Malaya, which tackles the issue of an agricultural land turned into a subdivision. I am interested in this article because it speaks of Savanah, a high-end subdivision in Iloilo, and its owner/developer, a presidential aspirant. Please click on the title to jump to the Malaya article.

A place called Savannah... by Lito Banayo

Here are the YouTube videos mentioned in the article. The videos purportedly documents the acquisition and conversion of prime agricultural lands into the present day Savannah subdivision.




If you happen to get inside Savannah, would you marvel at the wealth of the owners of the big houses? Or would you look over the perimeter walls and see if the houses of the displaced farmers are still standing? Or would you wonder whether the drainage that serves the subdivision's residents are actually irrigation canals that were meant to serve the farmers and help them make Iloilo a rice granary of the country? @

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Viernes Santo

My family (wife, kids, siblings, nieces, nephews, a few cousins) have been spending the Semana Santa in some other places in the Philippines. We regard the Holy Week as a time to bond with the family and an opportunity to travel together as Holy Week is the time when those working can take a leave from the office and those studying are already free from school.

This Semana Santa, we stayed in Iloilo. And therefore we had time to mingle with friends and relatives who were truly surprised to see us in Iloilo during this time. They thought we finally succumbed to the high cost of travel. And they were right.

But anyway, we had a swell time in Iloilo. To me, it’s not the place. The place just lends surprise and excitement to the bonding moments. To me, what’s important is that our family is together and enjoying.

The Santo Entierro or the dead body of Jesus Christ is the centerpiece of the Viernes Santo evening procession in Cabatuan. The santos is borne on the shoulders of the worshippers and paraded around the town. It is then displayed inside the church where religious groups do an around-the-clock vigil until the wee hours of Easter Sunday.

On Holy Friday, or Viernes Santo, we were in Cabatuan, about 25 kilometers north of Iloilo City. Cabatuan is one of the few towns in Iloilo that observes Viernes Santo with the traditional early morning procession to the kalbaryo which is about a kilometer from the poblacion. Along the route to the kalbaryo are makeshift altars depicting the fourteen stations of the cross which culminates with the gigantic cross atop the kalbaryo. The cross symbolizes the crucification of Jesus Christ on Mt. Calvary.

The kalbaryo is a high hill in Sitio Balic outside the poblacion of Cabatuan. It’s not an ordinary hill as it has a steep side. But somehow, the Semana Santa tradition to the promontory have sliced a footpath on the steep side which through the years had grown to a small dirt road that can accommodate a car or the carroza that brings the lifesize statue of the Nazarene halfway to the top of the hill.

It is a long climb to the top of the kalbaryo. But the breathtaking view from the top is worth the climb. Church authorities ensure that the worshippers are safe and a police assistance kiosk is also visible.

We arrived in Cabatuan already past 8:00am. And the tail-end of the procession had already reached the kalbaryo. We were supposed to do the Via Crucis but it was so hot so we took a tricycle to the kalbaryo. The kids were ecstatic as the last time they climbed the kalbaryo was years back. It seemed a new experience to them now.

Devotees were already on their way down when we reached the kalbaryo. Everybody was busy buying native delicacies, fruits, and even fresh fish. The foot of the kalbaryo became an instant tindahan. One would wonder whether the people were doing penance or enjoying the fiesta atmosphere. On our part, we were enjoying!

It is not just a season for penance. It is also a season for native mouth watering fruits; and the obiquitous displays of political posters. 

Semana Santa is vacation time to many. And here in the kalbaryo, a local would easily discern the visitors or a kababayan just arrived from somewhere. Local visitors may act like buki, or an ignorant newcomer, as they pointed to or oggled at common objects which could be new to them. Kababayans who just came from Manila wore the latest fashion - never mind if the fashion was not meant for a dusty and hot kalbaryo-climbing. They too were very verbal; and in Tagalog even, for everybody to hear, nevermind if the Tagalog sounded like Kinaray-a. Kababayans who just arrived from abroad toted with their flashy cameras aside from their expensive cellphones. Nevermind if they could take quality pictures with their miniature cellphones. They slang their cameras over their shoulders wherever they go, as if the cameras were part of their fashion statement. They wore rubber shoes with short pants cut above the knee. The last time I wore above-the-knee short pants was when I was in Boy Scouts.

There were only a few people going up, and fewer still lingered near the cross atop the kalbaryo. But at least, the few people made the view from the top less scary to the kids. The view was breathtaking and unhampered for kilometers. We saw the twin spires of the old Catholic church and the far mountains of the neighboring town of Maasin. When we descended, we bought ibos, kalamayhati, alupi, and betcho-betcho which the kids loved.

Native delicacies abound. After the tiresome walk and climb, the faithful gotta eat - this could be the bright thought of the local entrepreneurs. 

As in the past, we passed by the house of classmate Jocelyn M for breakfast of sotanghon soup, puto, and tsokolate. It was also a time to meet other classmates and exchange stories. Edith P whose name is ended with an Ed.D., was there. Also Cami and Dakul. Others had already left.

In the evening we joined the procession which was highlighted by the colorful parade of well dressed saints atop heavily decorated carrozas. We followed the carroza of the Pieta – lifesize statues of the Virgin Mary carrying on her lap the lifeless body of Jesus. We were told that the Pieta was sent from Spain and were under the upkeep of our family for seven generations already. The current caretaker is a seconnd cousin. When we were kids, I remembered seeing the dismantled limbs and other parts of the Pieta kept inside a big wooden box in the house of an uncle. The maids would scare us with the life-size limbs.

After the procession, a multitude of worshipers formed long queues that snaked in the streets outside the church, and waited their turns to pay homage to the Santo Entierro or the supine dead statue of Jesus Christ. We didn’t join the queue as it was already about 9:00 pm. I led the kids to inside the church and showed them what the worshippers were doing. Well, the worshippers were kissing a big crucifix instead of the Santo Entierro. The Santo Entierro was inside a glass encasement and displayed near the entrance of the church.

The last time I was in this church during Viernes Santo, the worshippers were kissing the feet of the Santo Entierro. The santos was just like a big cadaver surrounded by townfolks who acted as the apostles. Yes, it was like a cadaver fresh from the morgue and lying cold and dead. And it was common to see small kids wailing with fear as their parents dragged them near the santos.

The Pieta is the most dramatic and most symbolic among the santoses that are paraded in the evening of Viernes Santo. This Spanish-time life-size santos in the above photo, is in our family for seven generations already. Below, a line of santoses are displayed in front of the church for the worshippers to oggle at.

Along the route of the evening procession are makeshift stands where ladies in traditional attire (above) sing the passion. Beside the stands are life-size tableaus (below) made of native or recycled materials and depicting the passion of Jesus Christ.   

Outside, it was like there was a big event in the town plaza even if the people were hushed and unmerry. Around the plaza, the lifesize tableaus of the Via Crucis using native or recycled materials were lighted and people mill around to see which station was the best. Beside the stations were makeshift stands where ladies in native attire sang the passion. In the past, I knew that there was a contest as to the best station of the cross and the best group who sang the passion. And people would spend a lot for their assigned station, and singers would sing their best and their loudest when a crowd passes in anticipation that a judge might be in the passing crowd. Now, it seemed that the tableaus were constructed just to complete the task, and the singers were tired and I had not heard any singing when we passed the stands. Times changed I thought. Young ladies would better text their barkadas to enjoy rather than do spinster stuff like singing the passion.

The kids were sleepy when we got back to the car. But I was sure they learned from the Viernes Santo in Cabatuan. Alleluia!

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