Thumbnails:  The Dumaguete Experience, etcetera!

(How cultures can be wild and annoying sometimes!)

Butch Ledesma Ferrer

The SCCAFI ‘Flalok’, Vol 2. No.2, April-June, 2010

                 Eight hundred sixty five pairs of feet from all parts of the country danced their way to a city of laid-back ambience, a living witness to Spanish-American colonialism seemingly reluctant of the fast pace that you call progress -  the City of Dumaguete in Negros Oriental, Philippines, host to the 1st Philippine International Dance Workshop and Festival. Or simply put, Dance Xchange 2009!

                Among the feet askirmish were the South Cotabato delegation composed of dancers from Kahayag Community Dance & Theater Company under Marfin Frideles, Me’dal Kolon Datal Dance & Theatre Ensemble under Marella and Vivien Ferrer, members of the South Cotabato Dance Society under Jennifer Tupas, ACTS Office represented by Dinky Cagaanan and Denden Fantilanan and SCCAFI, represented by Butch Ferrer. Everyone was under the wings of Noel Garrovillo, member of NCCA Executive Committee on Dance, who made the trip possible and afforded each one a chance to a kaleidoscopic world of experiences. Talk about choosing one’s wild!

                And so everyone packed their pointe shoes, tights, leotards, sandos, purontongs, mostly “pamporma”. Some vouchers for travel had to be served fast, while others begged, err, solicited for the much needed “panggastos”.

 Others even had to be entrepreneurs by taking along Tboli goods for sale. Each one had to think of “kanya-kanyang diskarte” to survive in a not-so-distant place like Dumaguete City.

                Yet as delegates mostly new to the city, one is wont to secure his own subsistence and existence being innocent of Dumaguete’s economy and the economic requirements that it asks from neophytes and erstwhile visitors.

                Pockets would soon determine which route one would take. Choices were: a very early morning one-hour flight to Cebu after holing in Davao for a night after a four- hour trip from Koronadal; almost an hour of taxi ride to Cebu Public Terminal then another four-hour bus ride along Cebu shores to Liloan to board yet another RORO ship to cross the strait in an hour and a half and a little more than an hour bus ride to reach Dumaguete City. “Haaaay, kakapoy!”

                Or take the long stretch of mountainous terrain by bus for eight long hours from Tacurong to Cagayan de Oro to catch a RORO to Cebu for yet another eight hours, then a taxi ride to the terminal for  yet another six hour trip to Dumaguete on the same route taken longer by self-imposed thrift.  Talk about the infamous nautical highway of stalling ships midway at open seas or worst, sinking ships midway!

                Awwwhhh! Morbid thoughts! Either way, you find your pockets easily depleted by the attractive food peddled at your bus window or right at your seat across the aisle, not to mention the food on board ships which costs 300% more.

            Dumaguete City, at last! Finally settled at YMCA, thank God, the next morning we hailed…..what, no cabs? Denden had her day having a wild choice of that motorized “karetela” she fancied the night before. (That explains why she and Dinky had that picture! He, he!)

                “Manong, paki hatud mi sa convention center,” we chorused in broken Bisaya. Off we went on board the motorcycle-drawn “karetela” and for ten minutes, while feasting our eyes on the sights along the city streets, the vehicle slowed and stopped in front of a white building that says “Silliman University Medical Center”.

                “Manong di man mi tagadiri pero kahibaw bitaw mi nga dili na sya convention center.”

                “Ahh, pasensya mo kay wa man ko bati-a kun asa na sya!” Ouch! The nerve to say that! Maybe Dumaguete breeds “silli-men?”

                To make the story short, we reached the convention center after asking for directions where the venue was! Tsk, tsk, tsk! What an event! Talk about an international gathering...hah, too much expectations! And what a sight to behold we had upon entering a colossal and modern convention center. There, among the long queue of registrants, familiar voices rang in familiar berating tones attacking the inefficiency of the people behind the registration counter. “Prepared sila no?”

                “Wala gid ko magsala, si Rudy gid iya!” He, he, he! The usual condescending Rudy and the delegation from Sultan Kudarat, 100 percent present!

                “Naku, Kuya Butch kung sa atin ito, hindi lang bayong ang lalagyan ng kit! Ang iba may CD kami wala! Pareho lang naman ang registration fees na ibinayad namin.”

                “Relax ka na lang dyan, halika hilera tayo lahat dito.”

                “Bakit man?”

                “Magpera o bayong na lang tayo!”

                “Gaga ka talaga!”

                Well, first day impressions could last. “Let’s wait and see what happens next!”

                What happened next really created quite an impression! Since we came a day ahead of the workshop proper, there was no schedule for the day. I left Denden and Dinky to choose their wild having a hen party of their own. I learned that they spent almost four hours inside a second-run cinema. You guessed it right! A double program feature! Hehe, wala sa KCC nyan!

                 Me? I chose to be with the Sultan Kudarat delegation for a short dip in Bacong beach and to have our first lunch in Negros Oriental in that famous public beach resort.

                “May masarap na lechon manok daw dito,” quipped Rudy.

                With that in mind, we hailed another “karetela” and negotiated that we be taken to Bacong, a municipality just about 10 kilometers away from the city for P100, “pakyaw”. The driver agreed for yet another side trip, to the famous lechon manok house to buy lunch.

                The road where the lechon manok house lies was a one-way street. Rudy requested the driver to park the vehicle along the right side of the street, in front of the establishment, for a hasty buy.

                Indeed the traffic flow was turtle-paced as customers rushed in and out since it was about lunch time. Then, a petite orange lady with a pair of macho ray-ban approached us and ordered the driver ill-manneredly to move the vehicle as she guides a yellow Adventure to slip against the flow of traffic. The nerve she had berating on the hapless driver who explained that his passengers are delegates and that we were just buying food!

                It was that particular drama playing on the street when Rudy came with each hand carrying a bag of roasted chicken. He tried to explain but the orange lady wouldn’t budge. Altercation soon ensued, with Rudy fuming mad and started to spew out explanations yet the lady gave deaf ears. You could just imagine how the drama ended with Rudy swearing to report the orange lady to the headquarters after we come back from Bacong. “Hintay ka lang pagbalik namin! Gaga!”

                To this the orange lady shouted, “Bayot!”

              And to this too, we all shouted back, “dugay na!”

            We laughed as if we haven’t had a lifetime laughing our bowels out. Guffaws trailed us until we reached the town of Bacong. Thank God, the sea water did not rise to a boil when everyone took a dive to cool off dust, anger, annoyance and all!

                On the way home, Rudy made true his promise. We dropped by the headquarters to report the misconduct of a woman in uniform.

                 “Naku, kung sa amin lang siya, kanina pa siya pinulot sa kangkongan.” Oh no, there goes the famous line from people of notorious origins again! Hehehe! Intimidation against intimidation! Arrogance against arrogance!

             “May mananalo pa ba sa taga Region XII?”

              If that sounded as a threat, then one must know “kung sinong binangga nila!” As if we belong to the terrorist bloc no? Well, sometimes it helps being someone who hails from a place widely known for occasional bombings, summary killings and what have you! .It creates a notion of eerie strength, an imagined authority albeit negative notoriety. Talk about regional culture? “Sige na nga!”

                And it came to pass. The Festival opened with fanfare and funfare. Uhuh! Every was agog with the grand opening but the Lady in Red drained us out with a speech that lasted almost two hours balking on issues that would be appropriate in a campaign trail. Many wouldn’t have noticed but I saw  two arms lifting a golden chair enough to nudge the President to confer the National Artist title to the holier than thou! Much fun here, indeed!

                Oh well, it’s good the production number was a sight to behold. And true indeed to the fanfare, a big Dance X logo was theatrically unfurled—you bet, it’s a fan alright! And performance after performance followed. Some were world class, others? Well, my trained eye would ask the question why were they invited to perform in a prestigious dance festival such as this?

                When asked if the group performing is good, people in the know, mostly from Region XII would look at you blankly, put a forefinger under the nostrils and “yun na!” The answer was in question like—”baho man?” Or politely, one would quip “epistaxis!” Nose bleed! Or in drama we call it epistasis—a plot that develops into a catastrophe...it was good nobody was victimized by an impending calamity.

                Workshops followed. The famous Sri Lankan “one, ageyn” was talk of the day. Imagine eight hundred people doing the “one ageyn” exercise twelve times as if there was no tomorrow. The exercise? At the count of one, in a demi plie position you shift your body with your leg to the right. Ready, one….ageyn!” What does he think about us, Filipino dancers? Idiots?

         For me, idiocy is achieved when one doesn’t know his culture or worst he doesn’t know how to exercise his cultural liberty. If indeed he knows, he might be a victim of “living mode exclusion” where he is denied recognition or respect, or his identity would qualify him for “participation exclusion”. Without his knowledge, behind his back!

       Why?

         All because of his cultural identity! All because he shouldn’t belong! All because he is barred from “competition”! All because he is good and becomes a threat to the established dance institutions. That’s why there are groups who are better than those we saw but were never given the chance to prove their worth. Because chances are curtailed by the powers that be! Vested interests? Talk about culture, crabbish or otherwise, it could be traced back to the very office that safeguards culture – the culture of whom you know and never what you know!

                 Well, enough for the gripes—there’s no grievance panel to hear you out. In summation, the whole thing was a mess. One thing sure, we earned friends and enemies but on top of that, the travel to Dumaguete was an eye opener: that it should have been better selling pirated CDs and DVDs just outside the workshop venue or sell beads and bracelets or quietly shoo away to Siquijor or Bohol, whatever takes your fancy. Or best, scanning somebody’s certificates of participation and appearance in a computer and print it as a proof even if he did not register as an official delegate – for reimbursements!

                One redeeming note, however, was the session of foot massage in Dumaguete Church courtyard where Mayok Hiponia of Tboli, South Cotabato had to take off his wood-bead necklace and used it as a rosary for the pain inflicted by reflexology, dutifully passed on to Ronnie dela Pena of the City of Tacurong when he took the session, also grimacing in pain—hehehe!

                The aftermath was peacefully relaxing—as in a dance for giving all. And being “back home” is gratifying as in a curtain call when you realize that the cultural environment is too notoriously familiar where one could forget the Dumaguete experience and lull you to a peaceful slumber. Hallelujah! Bow