Summers in Sitio Pondohan

The pink and white bougainvillea blooming profusely across the Capitol Church is my official signal that summer is here. Well, that and the announcement that Cebu has recorded its hottest day for the quarter and the fact that my son's school year has ended.

When we were kids, my parents would send me and my sisters to my grandparents' home in Pondohan, Boljoon. Being city kids, we would feel ill at ease on the first day, gingerly treading on the bamboo floor, afraid of breaking the slats and falling through.

My mom's younger sisters were in charge of us and our cousins. To keep us occupied (and stop crying and asking to be brought back to the city), they gave us tasks to do around the house. In the mornings, we fed the chickens with husked corn. We smoothed and folded crumpled paper bags made of old newspapers so these could be reused to wrap the mango fruits. We also fetched water from the Palanas spring nearby.

Those errands were done quickly (there were at least eight of us who were old enough to take directions). We had plenty of time during the day to explore the surrounding areas. The terrain was rough and uneven and it was not unusual for us to go home with bumps and scratches. We picked guavas and lomboy (black plum) wherever we could. We clumsily tried riding the palwa (the coconut midrib) down the hillside like the local kids did.

On some days, my grandfather would walk with us. He was a retired public school teacher and scout master. He would point out a rock in the mountain across where we were standing (I did not actually see the rock but I never admitted it because I was afraid my cousins would laugh) and tell us that we were going there. The walk would take hours. We crossed streams and it made us feel important, like we were heroes going on an adventure. During those times, we did not whine and complain about being too tired to walk. No one wanted to be considered a ninny.

In the evenings, we would have talent shows by the light of the Petromax lamp. My grandfather would play the ukulele and accompany my cousins who sang Cebuano songs. The city kids recited nursery rhymes and English poems. I always regaled them with my Imelda Papin impersonation.

The fiesta in Pondohan takes place on the last week of May. I welcomed it because it meant having meat for all three meals. On regular days, breakfast consisted of rice (or corn grits), dried fish and sikwate. Lunch and dinner would consist of vegetables and sometimes, chicken. While there was a lot of food (puto, biko or pugon-baked bread stuffed with bukhayo) for snacking on, it was difficult for a carnivore like me.

The fiesta also meant that we could stay up later than usual because we would watch the coronation of the fiesta queen and the bayle that took place after. Both were held on a clearing near the public school. The area was lit with several Petromax lamps. Car batteries powered the music. For some reason, when I hear the B-52's "Rock Lobster," I remember those nights. It must have been one of the songs played then.

Sadly, I have not been to Pondohan in years. I heard that it will be getting electricity soon. I wonder what the fiesta will now be like.

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