I ask Roland, my head already full of data, "When was the only Sultan of Sulu, Allimuddin, baptized a Catholic in Paniqui, Tarlac, and renamed Fernando I?"
"April 29, 1759."
On my birthday, how could I forget!
"When did he arrive to be honored with a Te Deum at the Manila Cathedral?"
"May 4, 1750. Gov, it wasn’t in the Cathedral but in Santo Domingo Church with the Royal Audiencia attending," Roland replies.
This man is a walking almanac, so just read on.
"Let’s go see the site. Game?"
We arrived in Acocolao, Paniqui, Tarlac to find not a church of bricks as evidence, not a cross as proof of a cathedral’s existence in the 18th century. In Ilocano, the barangay folks said, "Nagkali ti taga ditoy." Translated without the heavy bulldozer intonation, "Naghukay ang mga taga rito," and they found a cross and chalice while they were planting sugar cane. That made Roland bend to examine the sandy loam soil, as though digging for something. Of course, he finds nothing.
We’re malas digging together. In Laguna in 1980 with Dr. Arsenio Manuel, dala-dala natin ang mga pala. Wow, when we got to Pinagbayanan in Pila, we found ang daming butas na. Treasure hunters had arrived ahead of us to dig for celadon, and blue and whites. Since we were already there, we jumped over the huge holes and skirted around them to dig our own volcano crater under the hot, hot sun. Giving up after an hour, I sat under an anemic tree exhausted ,while Dr. Manuel continued his lecture for three, as Fr. Hilario Lim had joined us, too.
"The wheel arrived from China in the Philippines… Blue and whites were found by the river bank now dried up…."
Dried up like me. "Tubig, tubig nga, please… guard, Jessie."
"In the 1600s, the pirate Camucones from Borneo near Tawi-Tawi attacked the Luzon provinces, Vigan included, and all the way to Samar," says Mr. Almanac. As we photographed 10 watchtowers constructed by the Spaniards with workers from the Samal slave-raids, could you imagine church bells pealing, cannons firing from the towers, and the Ilocanos scampering in all directions to reach the hills?
I remember a visit to Iloilo: "That’s your hometown Gov, from Lolo Adre Hernandez… Ilonggo tayo, you’re from Dingle, me from Jaro," as we savor the bachoy of La Paz.
We toured Camp Adriano Hernandez and sat by the site of the Cry of Lingkod. Incidentally, we forgot what cry it was, and it took us 10 minutes to diffuse a senior moment. We’ve been getting old together. That battle was between the Spaniards and Ilonggos, where the conquistadores surrendered to Lolo Adre’s army forces and to Col. Quintin Salas, his second in command.
We’ve gone to Sultan Kudarat to research on the Moro’s crocodile ceremony, and to find Mactoy and send him to school. Mactoy was my MILF companion with three others.
Who were they, I asked Roland.
"Elmo, Jack and Danny." They were my constant buddies in the 1990s.
By the way, they told Roland, "Wala naman aksyon dito sa Tarlac at Manila."
Still together, circa 2006: no divorcing for us. We move onward to Sulu again. "OK, Gov, I’ll just go home and wash my clothes and see you at Dasma 3 a.m."
He walks in the dark of the morning with a small bag that actually could carry all my makeup. He lives a frugal life, and all his necessities fit in a black waterproof hand-carry slung over his shoulder to keep toiletries, a notebook, one malong, one white T-shirt na walang butas. Magaling si Edna. She sews his shirts. Edna was once a teacher, and forever a wife na karibal ko. Turning blind, she was operated on, and never did Roland ask for a loan for medication. With a mother-in-law he can rely on, I am at an advantageous position to save my bucks. Few people can make me feel guilty. He’s one of them.
Our first stop was Indanan where, upon my request, he got onto the rubber dinghy.
"Roland, sail towards those Badjaos in the bancas and record their wedding ceremony, please."
Forty minutes on a boat chase, and we all thought that was very dangerous.
What if the Badjaos believed Roland on the dingly was set to kidnap them and fire shots? I couldn’t bear it.
Returning, finally he reported, "Gov, the bride is 12 years old and the groom is 13… and they don’t want to be interviewed on their wedding day."
I had my own interview findings from questioning the policeman who employed Badjaos to dive 25 fathoms deep for sunken vessels and their rich cargo.
"It’s alright, at least you found your bridal couple," I told him. "I didn’t find any gold."
In all the research I’ve subjected him to do, we’ve been very lucky to find primary sources in history and culture. But on artifacts again, no way. Yet as a pair, we’ll never give up.
Finally, Luuk by the seaport. He helps me into one of our numerous boat rides to step on a plank of wood over the Celebes Sea. Thin as he is, he can keep his balance while holding me in one arm and the other carrying my Benetton red and green luggage.
From our interviews of Banobo-Maguindanaoan folks, we gathered legends and traditions and traced the Manobo migration to North Cotabato. Migration being our expertise.
Finally, we used a linguistic term, "several thousand of years," unable to get the exact date of dispersion over hills and rivers and periods of planting and settling down. The route was exhilarating.
There is so much joy in discovering ancient truths as we propose theories that we must prove based on existing evidences, archives, and books and on the spot interviewing. Our country offers so many methods in solving puzzles for our history.
I pray for 25 more years with Roland. So our historical interests are never unfulfilled. It would be meaningless if I didn’t collaborate with my compadre who, like me, wants to contribute toward ensuring the survival of our ancient past, by discovering facts in far away places many dread to go to.
He smiles as I say, happy silver jubilee together.