Farewell to Zamboanga’s Maria Clara

From where I sit I am listening to the waves rushing towards the seashore and it seems like the hum of a lullaby. This is my constant companion in this peninsula, which is surrounded by two seas – the Sulu and the Moro Gulf. Nightly, I stare at the wide sea reminiscing about life in a Samal home in this city once known as "The City of Flowers" and the "Land of Lovely Mestizas."

A Karaoke blasting in a bar distracts me from writing. Heavy drums and a bellowing voice sings. "I know that I’d be a blah..blah..look into your eyes..." Both drums and voice are incoherent and just plain noisy. A pedicab’s engine makes an irritating buzzing sound like a hundred bumblebees, the still and humid evening has nature battling modernity.

* * *

Bringing goodwill and reunions, Christmas, I thought, was kind to me. Then, all of a sudden, sadness and mourning set in. That is what has brought me to this city known also as "un rinconcito de España, un precioso pedazo del Corazon de Castilla" with its mayor’s demise.

"Zamboanga?" asks a relative as we landed. Zamboanga comes from the Samal word "samuang" and the Samals told me it means to drive a bamboo pole into the mud. They claim to have given Zamboanga its name and therefore its first inhabitants were their ancestors. Another story is that a Spanish soldier, seeing a Samal boatman who happened to stray down a riverbank, chanced upon a Samal boatman mooring his vinta with a bamboo pole. The soldier asked the boatman what the name of the place was, to which the latter, thinking that his inquirer wanted to know what he was doing, replied "samuang." The soldier, believing in turn that he was understood, took "samuang" to be the name of the place.

* * *

Once called the Garden of Eden, Zamboanga was also called Jambangan by the Samals, which means "a place of flowers." It certainly lived up to its name this week when red petals were strewn on the streets for its spontaneous welcome for Zamboanga’s Mayor Maria Clara Lorenzo Lobregat who passed away in Manila. Thousands lined the streets to welcome her home. The enormous, Zamboanga Cathedral was crowded as many kept vigil while the mayor lay at rest in her beige coffin and her signature attire. A style that actually bears her name, Maria Clara. Instead of her usual flowery skirt and embroidered matching top, she was wearing a beige piña with tiny seed pearls with her hair pulled back in her trademark bun.

What ordinarily takes a mere 15-minute ride to the airport became a two-hour procession as Chabacanos escorted her remains through Zamboanga streets.

* * *

Having had the privilege of knowing her since I was 12 years old from summer vacations in Balabagan, Lanao Sur where their coconut plantation is, I thank her for caring for me every time I visited Zamboanga. If I didn’t call her she’d be hurt. Offended if I didn’t stay at her home. I would call and say, "I am fine. Estoy bien, Tita." "No estate conmigo," (No stay with me) and I’d repack my clothes to sleep at her home. When I finally had a Samal kubo, she’d come to visit me for dinner or drop by to bring fruits. She’d sit in the front seat of her car, or fetch me at the boulevard to take me for evening rides in Pasonanca, Fort Pilar, Cawa-Cawa Boulevard, her resort by the sea or simply drive around at night in this city. She was like a tourist guide while I, an eager learner, observed her closely. Almost related by a relative’s intermarriage before the outbreak of World War II, my mommy and Tita Caling were long-time friends. My mom would always say that Tita Caling’s house was the nicest one around the corner of Taft Ave. and Vito Cruz. Vito Cruz was the center of student activities with La Salle College located just beside Tita Caling Lorenzo’s house. In that vicinity, a Professor Celeste owned a restaurant where athletes would hang around. Attracting students was a halo-halo carinderia by the Feria residence. Life was simpler then, Mommy Lita recalls. Two cans and a string passed for a telephone. And daily allowance was 10 cents and the end of the tranvia line was near the Meralco substation on Calle Zobel. My dad Desi remembers Tita Caling and her husband Tito were excellent swimmers.

Tita Caling’s death brought back those memories from my parents, among other people whose lives she touched. When my mother, who was with Tita Bebe Virata, walked in front of La Salle on Estrada St., which was a short distance from St. Scholastica’s School at 4:15 p.m., she was distracted by shouting and hooting La Sallites who would wave at the St. Scho girls. Instead of looking up to the third floor where the boys where, she and Tita Bebe would just wave at them with their fingertips. While relating this story, my mom couldn’t help but shed tears at the loss of someone very dear to her.

* * *

I recall getting up at 8 a.m. and savoring Tita Caling’s breakfast of hot chocolate and pandesal with lots of butter. Papaya was her favorite fruit. Sitting by her long dining table surrounded by her collection of chicken, I was so careful not to stain her dining table cloth with chocolate drops. Her chicken collection presented a softer side for this tough and hard-headed Taurean born on April 26. "No breakfast for me," I would reply. "Come, come (eat, eat), you can afford it. Estas muy flaca " meaning you’re too thin. Sinigang, chorizo, and bacon followed. And my diet forgotten and left for tomorrow again.

Mayor Lobregat, everyone’s substitute mother and aunt, liked to be abused because she also spoiled many of us. I was one of them. I once asked her six months ago in Zamboanga, "You’re wise and wealthy, would you like to pay for my dinner tomorrow night?" "OK, sigue," she replied. First it was for 20 guests, which ballooned to 30 and then 40, and finally 60 after only days of preparation. At 8 p.m., her Girl Friday of 56 years Benita had gathered a caterer, a canopy, six tables for 10 at Tita Celing’s resort, Vista del Mar, and two lechons added to my original request of adobo, carne, lumpia and salad.

As a result, the Marines and my staff had a super sumptuous dinner. Tita Celing’s daughter Dotos said, laughing, "My mom’s like that too. She invites and invites and I have to keep on adding food."

Just a few days ago, her niece Peachie Prieto and myself called Tita Caling. "I’m in the hospital," she told us. "See me when I get home." But Tita Caling never returned to Vito Cruz. My Muslim friend said, "The angels Tita Caling decorated at the plaza took her away. According to Antonio Orendain in his book Zamboanga Hermosa, that plaza was the "hub of the town’s affairs."

"The Corpus Christi processions were held around the plaza every year. It was where all main political rallies began or ended. There, too, was where the people gathered on an evening in October to listen to a program broadcast by the Zamboangaño students of Manila in honor of the Virgen del Pilar. Not every house was equipped with a radio receiving set then, and to hear a special broadcast by Zamboangueños from Manila, which was a week away by ship, was extraordinary. Many a mother wept to hear her son or daughter declaim or sing to the Lady of the Fort from so far away. One year, Isabelita Fermin recited "A La Virgen del Pilar," another year the town listened with bated breath to our Caling Lorenzo. Among the men whose voices were carried on the airwaves were Teng Generoso and Cua Atilano.

It’s no wonder then that Tita Caling sang with The Stages, a choral group from Zamboanga, her favorite song of praise for the Virgin of Pilar and her hometown Zamboanga. The song’s title is Cuidad de Zamboanga.

Des del dia de mi nasimiento
Hasta que a llega yo’y travecer...reso bien...
E amable mga jente con cariño te sirvi
Mi cuidad de Zamboanga
Des del antes popular
...Donde ay proteccion dela Virgen del Pilar
(From the day I was born until I "cross" away...
I’ll pray well.... the amiable people with love serve you
My City of Zamboanga popular ever since...
Where there is protection from the Virgin of del Pilar)
May our Lord usher His daughter, Ma. Clara to her new home above.