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Moro: An Autocritique

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Noor Saada

Moro is success. These days, the term “Moro” is a badge of honor especially for those who are in sync with the government of the day in the autonomous region, manifested in a line in the region’s hymn, “Bangsamoro’y tagumpay” (The Bangsamoro is success). It stands for a history of resistance and pride.

Yet for others, this very term raises hard questions about belonging, who speaks, and being spoken for. Though often associated with the 13 historically-identified Muslim ethnolinguistic groups in Mindanao, Sulu, and Palawan, the Moro identity extends beyond ethnicity, religion, and political boundaries to become an imagined landscape shaped by colonization, cultural translation, and the ongoing quest for self-determination.

Colonial Birth. The term was first used in the Philippine context by Miguel Lopez de Legazpi, the Spanish conquistador, who arrived in the archipelago in the 16th century. Borrowing the term from Spain’s centuries-long struggle against the Moors of North Africa and Andalusia, Legazpi and the Spanish colonizers used Moro to label the largely coastal and insular Muslim inhabitants of the Philippine islands, particularly in Mindanao, Sulu and Palawan.

The term was used to mark not just religious difference but political defiance. These Muslims were different from the “heathen highlanders” and the “docile Indios” of the Christianized North. Unlike the highland Lumad or Igorot groups who lived outside the reach of the colonial church-state apparatus, the Moros had their own centralized sultanates, maritime networks, and transregional Islamic identities that connected them to the Nusantara (Malay world), and the Islamic ummah (global community).

In this way, the term began as an exonym, a name imposed by the colonizer to define the enemy. Over time, however, especially in the regime of minoritization, it was reappropriated by the colonized indigenous population as a symbol of resistance and constructed nationhood (bangsa).

Inclusion – Who are in. The post-colonial reassertion of Moro identity centered around the so-called “13 ethnolinguistic groups”: Badjao, Iranun, Jama Mapun, Kagan, Kolibugan, Maguindanaon, Meranaw, Molbog, Panimusan, Sama, Sangil, Tausug, and Yakan. These groups share not only a common Islamic faith but also a history of resisting colonization, firstly against the Spanish, then the Americans and Japanese, and finally the post-independence Philippine nation-state.

While useful in political and legal frameworks such as the peace processes and the creation of the regional autonomies, it also risks essentializing a complex and dynamic set of identities. It leaves out many others who share the same historical geography, religious beliefs, or cultural ties, but who do not fall neatly within the 13 ethnic identities.

Exclusion – Who Gets Left Out. What of the Teduray, Lambangian, and Dulangan Manobo, among others, who are indigenous to Mindanao but are not Muslim? They live within the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region, yet their ancestral claims and cultural lifeways often remain peripheral in the dominant political discourse?

What of the Sama Dilaut (Badjao), seafaring, stateless, and often discriminated against, even by their land-based fellows?

What of the Jama Mapun and Molbog of Palawan, whose connection to Islam is deep yet whose marginality continues?

What of the mestizos, those born of Moro and Christian Filipino parents, or those who have embraced Islam through marriage or conversion?

What of Muslim reverts, Filipinos from Luzon or the Visayas, or even foreigners, who embraced the Islamic faith and chose to live among Muslim communities in Mindanao?

What about the descendants of the Lannang (Chinese), Arab, and similar Southeast and South Asian identities living in our midst?

Does a Moro identity requires bloodline? Land? Language? Or merely faith?

Blood, Faith, or Belonging. If being Moro is about blood, then we risk creating an exclusionary ethnonationalism that denies the hybridity and migration that have long characterized Mindanao, Sulu and Palawan.

If it is about faith, then we must ask: is every Muslim in the Philippines a Moro? Are Mindanawon converts or urban Muslims in Manila part of this imagined community?

If it is about lived cultural experience, then being Moro must include those who speak the language, participate in rituals, honor the maratabat (dignity), respect the adat (customary law), and uphold the collective memory of struggle.

If it is political, then the term becomes not just a cultural label, but a revolutionary one, an assertion of a historical grievance and a demand for justice, recognition, and self-rule. But what happens when the politics falter, when unity frays, or when governance fails to live up to the ideals?

How about those who assert the primacy of their ethnicity: they are Bangsa Sug, Bangsa Sama or Bangsa Iranun over and above their Moro-ness? Are they less of a Moro?

Reimagination.  An inclusive identity must reckon with these tensions. It must honor its history of resistance, but also evolve to reflect the pluralism within its region. The legacy of Legazpi’s colonial label must be undone not merely by inversion, that is, wearing it as a badge of honor; but also, by transforming it into an inclusive identity of justice, dignity, and cultural integrity.

To be Moro is not only to descend from gagandilan (warriors), membership in the revolutionary group or speak a native tongue, but to be part of a living history, of a people shaped by the ecology and the collective struggle, by the Quran and the kulintang, by adat and amanah (trust), by memory and movement.

Moro is a name we have adapted and reshaped to suit and define our collective struggle and quest for self-determination. It is an identity not just exonymically acquired, but lived, chosen, and contested. It is not a category closed by blood or birth, but an unfolding story of a people still becoming and coalescing.

Contributors (Issue 9)

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Almera Alimoden is a college student at Mindanao State University- Main Campus Marawi City, taking up Bachelor of Arts in English Language Studies.

Nail Tugasan Arumpac is a third year college student at Mindanao State University – Sultan Naga Dimaporo, pursuing a Bachelor of Secondary Education major in Filipino.

Johara D. Alangca-Azis is a Meranaw writer from Mindanao State University-Main Campus, Marawi City. Her passion and enthusiasm for studying, documenting, promoting and preserving her own language and culture, including her keen interest in composing poetry in Meranaw were sparked by her active involvement with the Meranaw Cultural Mapping Team of the MSU-Main Campus, where she serves as the Head of the Meranaw Language Program. Additionally, she leads the Meranaw Orthography Committee, which has produced a guidebook titled ‘SINANADAN KO KAZORAT SA BASA MERANAW (Learning Guide in the Writing of the Meranaw Language, Volume1). She has also authored several instructional materials on Meranaw language and culture, including a book titled “MONTIYA: Book of Meranaw Poems, Dialogues and Peace Sayings, Volume 1.”

Lady Johainee Dimaampao Banocag is a 24-year-old student at Mindanao State University – Main Campus, Marawi City, pursuing a degree in English Language Studies. With interest in writing about real-life experiences recounted to her, she looks forward to making her works an eye-opener for her readers. In 2024, she created a Facebook page called Write, Lady to share her reflections on various aspects of life. Aside from writing, she is also passionate about video creation and editing.

Aleah Sulaiman Bantas, dalawampung taong gulang at kasalukuyang kumukuha ng Bachelor of Secondary Education, Major in Social Studies, sa University of Southern Mindanao. Isang Maguindanaon mula sa Datu Paglas, Maguindanao del Sur, ginugugol niya ang kaniyang oras sa pagbabasa at pagsusulat— lalo na ng tula, panitikan, at mga akdang hinango mula sa kaniyang personal na karanasan ng paggunita, pakikipamuhay sa masa, at mga salitang kayang punan ang puwang ng katahimikan. Hilig niya rin ang pagguhit, paglikha, panonood ng pelikula, at pakikinig sa musika.

Laurehl Onyx B. Cabiles was born in Esperanza, Sultan Kudarat. He grew up in Carmen, Cotabato Province. He has been a fellow of the Sox Writer’s Workshop (2023), NAGMAC-YWS (2024), and Ateneo de Davao Summer Writers Workshop (2024), and Davao Writers Workshop (2025). This young writer, who is also a licensed professional teacher and a member of Tridax Zines, loves to spend his free time attending local literary and music events to support his fellow artists in the SOCCSKSARGEN Region.

Adawia J. Jamasali is a researcher, educator, and cultural champion from Sulu. She teaches English and Communication at Sulu State College and is actively involved in community-based projects, particularly those that utilize storytelling and digital literacy to empower indigenous groups, such as the Sama. Her research interests are languages, education, linguistics, literature, and human resource development. Adawia is also an avid writer who uses her experience and local stories to raise awareness and resilience. She is also a public speaker and host.

Norhan B. Kudarat is a writer, teacher, and PhD student in Language Studies at Mindanao State University – Marawi. His literary works are deeply rooted in the cultural identity and lived realities of the Moro people. He is the author of “Dipatuan and Bai Laga“, a folk-inspired story published by Tanjungpura University in Indonesia. Currently, he is completing his dissertation on the stylistics of Kalimantan and Mindanao folk stories, exploring how linguistic and literary elements reflect the worldview and cultural values of Southeast Asian communities. His writing often centers on themes of faith, womanhood, identity, and resilience in Southern Philippines.

Sohaylah B. Manabilang is a second-year student pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Literary and Cultural Studies at Mindanao State University – Main Campus, Marawi City. In 2022–2023, I was selected as a fully‑funded Kennedy-Lugar Youth Exchange and Study (YES) Program scholar. I lived and studied in the United States for one academic year. I have also represented the university as a delegate at the Asia Youth International Model United Nations in Bangkok, Thailand. Passionate about cultural heritage, I currently serve as a Cultural Advocate and Brand Ambassadress of The Meranaw Hijab, promoting traditional attire and identity.

Si Al-jhamier Unos Mosib o kilala rin sa kaniyang pen name na Multilingual_Snake ay dalawampung taong gulang at naninirahan sa Banisilan, Cotabato. Kasalukuyan siyang kumukuha ng kursong AB English Language Studies sa Pamantasan ng Katimugang Mindanao (USM). Siya ay may malalim na pagmamahal sa mga katutubong wika at sa katunayan, siya ay nakapagsasalita ng walo sa kabuuan, kabilang ang wikang Maguindanaon, Hiligaynon, Cebuano, Maranao, Iranun, Kinaray-a, atbp. Naniniwala siyang ang wika ay susi sa pag-unawa ng kultura ng bawat isa.

Nathara M. Mugong is a Sama from Simunul, Tawi-Tawi. She is a graduate of Ateneo de Zamboanga University with a Bachelor of Arts in English Language Studies.

Noor Mohammad D. Saada is an introvert, outlier and quinquagenarian Moro of diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds, born in Sulu, grew up in Tawi-Tawi, studied in Zamboanga City, and worked in Davao City, Cotabato City, Makati City, and Basilan. He brings with him more than two decades of professional work in school health and nutrition, human resources management, management information systems, education management, education in minority and equity contexts, education in fragility, cultural sensitivity, peace education, and donor-funded project development. He is a widower, father of two children, and now works in a local government unit, and part-time as a lecturer in a graduate school.

Almayrah A. Tiburon is a native Meranaw writer from Mindanao State University, Marawi City. She composed the official school hymn of Philippine Integrated School Foundation (PISF). Two of her books on fiction Terminal 1 and Terminal 2 have e-book versions aside from printed ones. Her works have been published in respected periodicals and anthologies such as Umaalma, Kumikibo, In Certain Seasons: Mother Write in the Time of Covid, Likhaan: The Journal of Contemporary Philippine Literature, Aruga: Mga Sanaysay ng Pagtanggap at Paglingap, Ani 40: Katutubo where she served as the editor of the Meranaw section of this book, BioLente: Mga Bagong Katha sa Danas ng Dahas at Banwa, Laoanen:  Kababaihan/ Digmaan/ Kapayapaan, CNN Philippines’ Best Books of 2018 Lawanen 2: Mga Alaala ng Pagkubkob which she also served as editor of this book, Mga Haraya ng Pag-igpaw, Bangsamoro Literary Review, Liwayway, Danas: Mga Pag-aakda ng Babae Ngayon which was named among The Best Filipino Books of the 2010s by CNN Philippines, Likhaan’s Dx Machina: Philippine Literature in the Time of COVID-19, Sulatan sa Panahon ng Pandemya, Mindanao Harvest 4: A 21st Century Literary Anthology, and Asymptote Journal. She is the author of Thotholan: Mga Alamat at Pabulang Meranaw, and Salamin At Iba Pang Panglaw which was among the Top 5 finalists for the Best Books of Short Fiction (Filipino) in National Book Awards 2019. Her literary interests also cover the folk literature of the Meranaw people. She wants to encourage Meranaws and other Mindanaoans, whose voices are seldom heard in the literary scene, to write about their sentiments and be published.

Ronaliza Manangat-Wagas is a faculty member of Mindanao Statee University – Tawi-Tawi College of Technology and Oceanography (MSU-TCTO).

 

 

Wordy

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Adawia J. Jamasali

It was an unusual day in September for Melyn. She sat outside her house, frowning the whole morning. It was so unlike her. Usually, her mornings were filled with gossip about her neighbor, Mrs. Abdulla, whose sons and daughters were already professionals and based in Zamboanga City.

Melyn would proudly tell her other neighbors, Jumma and Nora, that she had seen with her own eyes how sad Mrs. Abdulla looked when she went out to throw the garbage. It was because she was alone in the house. Her huge mansion was useless now, since all her children had their own lives. Her sadness was unfathomable, worsened by the fact that her elderly husband—bedridden—was not with her, but with his second wife, who was far too young for him. Life must have been cruel to Mrs. Abdulla, leaving her stuck in Sulu and all alone.

Jumma and Nora would listen attentively to Melyn and even admire how credible and detailed her information about Mrs. Abdulla was.

Just yesterday, the three of them spent the whole day talking about the mysterious man who visited Mrs. Abdulla. He was new to them. They didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t a relative or a known friend of any of Mrs. Abdulla’s children.

The man, who appeared to be in his early twenties, was tall and slim. He wore a black face mask, a black hat, and black sunglasses. His black shirt was plain, with no prints or logos. He seemed very mysterious.

He rang the bell at Mrs. Abdulla’s house around ten in the morning, while Melyn and her companions were still arguing about the garbage truck, which was running late in their village. After a few minutes, Mrs. Abdulla, now in her late sixties, slowly opened the gate. She silently nodded to the man and invited him inside. Melyn and her two friends watched in silence. Mrs. Abdulla locked the gate, and the two disappeared into the mansion.

The three women were now very curious about what they had just seen. Instead of going back to their respective homes to do chores, they stayed, waiting for the man to come out so they could ask him who he was. Jumma said she had asked her husband to do the laundry, while Nora, luckily, had no one at home, so they had the entire day to keep watch. Melyn, on the other hand, told her nephews to buy their own food since she couldn’t cook for them because of the unfolding drama.

They brought out their plastic chairs and sat outside Melyn’s house. While waiting for more action from Mrs. Abdulla’s residence, they gossiped, laughed, and poked fun at their topics.

But today, Melyn was frowning. She couldn’t compose herself. She was wondering why the man hadn’t come out of the mansion since yesterday. He must’ve spent the night there. But who was he? How was he connected to Mrs. Abdulla?

She was also puzzled that Mrs. Abdulla hadn’t gone out that morning to throw out the garbage, as she usually did. What could the two of them be doing? Could they be romantically involved? But that didn’t make sense—how could a man in his twenties fall in love with an old woman? Unless… he was after Mrs. Abdulla’s pension.

Melyn stood up and walked toward Mrs. Abdulla’s gate. She craned her neck, trying to catch sight of either the woman or the mysterious man, but to no avail. She looked at her wristwatch. No one was coming out. And soon, her friends would arrive. She had no new information to offer them this time.

She returned to her plastic chair. Eventually, she saw Jumma and Nora approaching with their chairs and paper bags of snacks. They greeted one another and positioned themselves beside Melyn.

Jumma, in her late forties, a small woman with a flat tummy, brought out the snack she had prepared: pastil, a Tausug delicacy with bihon-filled dough fried to a crisp.

“Any news today, Melyn?” she asked while chewing her first bite.

“No,” Melyn admitted sadly.

Melyn was a few years older than Jumma. She was tall and heavyset, often mistaken to be pregnant because of her protruding belly. But she was a spinster. She was manly and nagging, and no man had ever seriously pursued her, much less married her. She had lived alone for years, though her siblings had entrusted some of their children to her care.

“That’s sad, Melyn. I thought you’d feed us with some juicy news today,” Nora chimed in.

Nora was the oldest of the three. Tall and fair-skinned, she must have been beautiful in her youth—she still carried traces of it. She was married to a police officer who was often away on duty. Their three daughters were studying in Cebu City. When her husband was at work, she spent most of her time with Melyn, gossiping.

Melyn remained silent while the two women enjoyed their snacks.

“Oh, this is so delicious,” Nora exclaimed. “Where did you buy this?”

“At Sitti’s,” Jumma replied.

“I see. That explains it.”

“Yeah, you know how good she is at baking and cooking. The other day, I bought daral and putli mandi, and the kids devoured everything right away. They loved it,” Jumma said as she chewed another bite of pastil.

“Melyn, try some—it’s really good,” Nora offered.

Melyn leaned toward them but didn’t take any food.

“They still haven’t come out,” she finally said.

The women looked at her, puzzled.

“But why? How did they cook breakfast this morning?” Nora asked.

“Yeah, and what clothes did that handsome guy wear to bed?” Jumma added with a smirk.

“Do you think they slept?” Nora asked again.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Jumma replied.

“Oh come on, Jumma! When it’s just two people alone in a house, what else would they do? Cook?” Nora laughed.

“But I didn’t hear any cooking last night. Not even a voice,” Melyn interrupted.

“Oh my God! Do you think they’re dead by now?” Nora shrieked.

“Shut up!” Melyn and Jumma snapped at the same time.

“We have to figure out what happened,” Melyn said softly.

The two women leaned in to listen. Then, they all continued talking, eating, and laughing in their chairs well past noon. The sun was high and the heat oppressive. Still no sign of life from Mrs. Abdulla’s house.

By late afternoon, Nora and Jumma were stretching and yawning. Mrs. Abdulla and the stranger were still nowhere in sight.

“I have to go home and cook dinner. See you tomorrow, Melyn,” Nora finally said.

“Me too. Let’s keep watch again tomorrow,” Jumma added.

Melyn was left alone in her chair, her eyes fixed on her neighbor’s house. As darkness fell, she stood and walked to Mrs. Abdulla’s gate. She rang the doorbell. No response. She rang it again. Still nothing.

Frustrated, Melyn’s face flushed red. She began to push the doorbell more aggressively, over and over. The bell rang loudly inside the house. Its echo traveled through the halls of the mansion, then spread to nearby houses, then farther, until the whole neighborhood heard it.

Melyn’s strength began to fade as she gasped for air, still pushing the button endlessly.

Some neighbors came out of their homes, curious about the strange sound. Dogs barked. Cats spun in circles, chasing their tails. Even Jumma and Nora peeked outside, looking up at the sky in search of the sound’s source. When they couldn’t find it, they returned to their sofas, turned on the TV, and munched on popcorn.

At exactly 6 o’clock, the Azan echoed from the village Masjid. Amid the call to prayer, the doorbell kept ringing.

Some families began dinner. Others rose to perform Maghrib prayer.

Only one person remained at the gate, still pressing the doorbell: Melyn.

So Bangsa Patotogaes ago Bangsa Taribasok

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Nail Arumpac

Miyanga ipos aya ragon sii sa ingaed a Karomatan sii sa Payong. Ko adaen paen a mga tao a kimbaebaling sa poro ago sa kilid a ragat. Madakael paen a mga tao a kibaebaling sii sa kaporoan sii ko adaen a maulad a diron dipamumulan, na aya mga tao ron na giya bangsa a mga taribasok a paembaetowan siran sa mga taga-kaporoan (mga tao a kimbaebaling sa poro) sa Raebokaen ago sii paeman sa kilid a ragat naso mga Iragataen na siran so mga bangsa a mga patotogaes na sii kimbaebaling sa marani sa ragat, umani isa na adaen a pimbida-bidaan iran sa paekakuwan sa kapaekauyag-uyag iran. So mga bangsa a mga taribasok na paekabaebayaan iran so kapamomolaan sa lagid o ilaw, niyog ‘go salakaw ron paen. Mabaebaya siran paen mangayam sa mga pangangayamaen lagid o manok, karabaw, koda ago sapi. Na sii pman sa sabala siko bangsa mga patotogaes na kawasa sa mga paekakuwaansa kauyagan sii sa ragat lagid o saeda, muntiya ago antona kaon saan a paekasokat sa ragat, umani isa a bangsa na bida-bida e kauyag-uyag.

Nakalipas ang ilang taon sa bayan ng Karomatan sa Payong. Nang may mga taong naninirahan pa sa gubat at sa tabing dagat. Maraming pa ang mga taong naninirahan doon sa gubat sa may malawak na bukiran, ang mga naninirahan roon ay ang tribu ng mga magsasaka na tinatawag ni lang taga-Kaporoan (mga taong naninirahan sa bukid) sa Raebokaen at sa tabing dagat naman ay ang mga Iragatën na sila ang bumubuo sa tribu ng mga mangingisda na naninirahan malapit sa dagat, bawat tribu ay may pagkakaiba ng pinagkukunan ng likas na yaman. Ang tribu ng mga magsasaka ay mahihilig magtanim tulad ng palay, niyog at iba pa. Mahilig din sila mag-alaga ng mga hayop tulad ng manok, kalabaw, kabayo at baka. Sa kabilang tribu naman ang tribu ng mga mangingisda naman’y mayaman sa likas na yamang dagat tulag ng mga isda, perlas at ano pa mang likas na yaman na makukuha sa karagatan, bawat tribu ay may iba’t ibang estado sa buhay.

Ugaid na miyakaisa a gawie, na adaen a miyadaedaeg a Iragataen si sa kaporoan marani sii ko lupa o mga bangsa taribasok a paepaenguwa sa kayo. Kodaen ko masaesaendod a isa otu sa bangsa o mga patotogaes sa di niyan dika gogoray sa mga kayo siko lupa o mga taga-kaporoan na adaen a miyakinaeg iyan a lalis a marani sii ko diniyan di gogorayan sa kayo. “Nga!”, na magan so magaan na inobay a gyoto a patotogaes, na miyailay niyan a giya mapiya a pangilaylayan. So gadong a pamomolan ago so mga pangangayamaen. Miyobay a patotogaes otu ka a niyan mapagilailay sa marani giyoto a kiyamasaan iyan. Nako mailay saekaniyan o mga kimbaebaling roo, so mga bangsa taribasok. Na miyamaemaesa siran ko mailay iran so mga muntiya a dimamanaenang siko lawas iyan ago so paedang iyan a piyangaebaal a poon sii sa ator a maputi sii sa kalodan.

Nang minsan, isang araw ay may napadpag na Iragataen sa gubat malapit sa lupain ng tribu ng mga magsasaka upang mangahoy. Habang abala ang isa sa tribu ng mga mangingisda na nagsisibak ng mga kahoy sa lupain ng mga taga-kaporoan ay may narinig siyang sigaw malapit sa kaniyang sinisibak na kahoy, “Nga!”, dali-dali ay nilapitan ito ng mangingisda at nakita niya ang magandang tanawin, ang luntiang hardin at mga hayop. lumapit pa ang mangingisda para makita pa ito ng malapitan ng makita siya ng mga taga-roon ang tribu ng mga magsasaka. Sila ay nabighani ng makita nila ang mga perlas na kumikinang sa kaniyang katawan at ang kaniyang dala-dalang itak na gawa sa puting bato mula sa karagatan.

“Antaa ginan a mama a sabarang daen kapakailay akaen sa kisosolotaen iyan anan” kabasa o sabaad ko mga Bangsa Taribasok. Miyamaemaesa so miyakailay raekiyan, Taman sa miyaka-oma sii ko Datu (Olowan o mga bangsa taribasok) sii sa ingaed otu so totol, “Datu, adaen a miyakasolaed sii sa lupa tano a sabarang daen so baebangalaan iyan a lagid o kaenaba mibibilang sii ko mga bangsa tano”. Magan so magaan na siyongan saekaniyan o Datu, so miyataro a mama a adaen a di mamanaenang a gayonggay siko lawas iyan, na piyakabolos iyan angkoto a patotogaes sa lagid o paed saekaniyan sii ko bangsa iran. “Inoka sii makaoma sa lupa ami?” pitaro o Datu. “O Datu, miyama kaoma ako sii sangkayi a lupa iyo sabap sa ko kiyadaedaeg akaen sa kapaepaengowa ko sa mga kayo a ipagitagon ami”. saembaeg o Patotogaes. Pamomolowan a paegisaan saekaniyan o Datu na inaenggat iyan so patotogaes “O mapakay a mailay akaen so kapiya odi niyo di kapagoyag-oyag sii ko dinga di taroon a kilid ragat?”.

“Sino ang lalaking iyan na may kakaibang ang kaniyang kasuotan?” wika ng isa sa mga tribu ng mga magsasaka. Namangha ang mga taong nakakita sakanya, hanggang sa dumating sa Datu (ang namumuno sa tribu ng mga magsasaka) sa nayon na iyon ang balita, “Datu, mayroong nakapasok sa ating lupain na may kakaibang kasuotan na parang hindi kabilang sa ating angkan”. Pinuntahan naman ito kaagad ng Datu, ang nasabing lalaki na iyon na may makikinang na palamuti sa katawan at pinatuloy niya ito na parang kasapi ng agkan nila. “Bakit ka naparito sa aming lupain?” sabi ng Datu. “O Datu, nakarating ako rito sa inyong lupain sa kadahilanang ako ay naligaw sa aking pangunguha ng kahoy para may panggatong” sagot naman ng mangingisda. Habang tinatanong ng Datu, ang mangingisdang iyon ay inalok siya ng Datu “Kung pwede ay makita ko ang kagandahan ng inyong pamumuhay sa sinasabi mong tabi ng dagat?”.

Ko mapitaon otu na miyakaoma so patotogaes a paed iyan so Datu o mga bangsa taribasok. “Asalamoalaikom” kabasa o patotogaes. “Antaa…Aydow!, so karuma ko!” pitaro o karuma o patotogaes rakaes a miyagakaes iyan so karuma niyan “Ama!” pitaro mambo o mga wata o patotogaes. Paekabaya-baya so pamilya o patotogaes ka saekaniyan na miyaka kasoy sa ingaed iran a bibiyag ago miyakan duwa-duwa siran sa ino adaen a tagaepada iyan a naba isa ko mga Bangsa Patotogaes a Iragataen. “O Karuma ko?, antaonon a ped kanan?”. Piyagosay mambo o patotogaes ko pamilya niyan na piyamakinaeg iran mambo. “Bolos kano sa kapipiya ginawa” maana piyakataros siran o karuma o patotogaes sii ko walay iran sa kapipiya ginawa. Ko mapasad oto na pitaro o datu ko patotogaes “Badi mapakay a malibaet ta a lupa iyo aya ka an akaen mapagilay-ilay ‘go bako nga mawit sii ko datu iyo sa giya bangsa niyo?”. “Ana mapiya giya miyanaeg akaen raeka Datu” pitaro o patotogaes sa gumiyanat siran mambo sa walay ongkoto a Patotogaes. “O karuma ko, pagawa ako daan sa walay ka pagunotan ko angkayi a datu. Sa kabaya iyan a kamasaan iyan so kapaekauyag-uyag tano sii sangkayi a kilid a ragať”. “Oway karuma ko, siyapaen kano o kadaenan” inisimbag mambo o karuma o patotogaes. Miniyog mambo so patotogaes ka adaen a tadaeman iyan sa giyong koto a datu o mga taribasok a piyakabolos iyan sa lupa iran sa lagid a paed saekaniyan sii kokobangsa iran. “Giya ron so mga litag a kibaebaetad ami sangkayi a ubay a mga ator a para ko mga saeda ago mga layagan” pitaro o patotogaes sii ko Datu a mga taribasok.

Nang umagang iyon ay dumating ang mangingisda kasama ang Datu ng mga magsasaka.  “Asalamoalaikom” wika ng mangingisda. “Sin…Naku!, ang asawa ko!” sabi ng asawa ng mangingisda kasabay ng pagyakap niya sa kaniyang asawa “Ama!” sabi naman ng kaniyang mga anak. Labis ang tuwa ng pamilya ng mangingisda na siya ay naka-balik ng buhay sa kanilang angkan at pagtataka nila na bakit may kasama siyang hindi isa sa mga taga-Iragataen “Asawa ko?, sino ba iyang kasama mo?”. Nagpaliwanag naman ang mangingisda sa kaniyang pamilya at pinakinggan naman ito. “Bolos kano sa kapipiya ginawa” na ibig nitong sabihin ay lubos silang pinapatuloy ng asawa ng may mabuting ginhawa. Matapos ang iyon ay sinabihan ng Datu ang mangingisda “Kung pwede ay malibot natin ang inyong lupain ng akin itong masilayan at madala mo rin ako sa namumuno sa inyong tribu”. “Aba’y ikinagagalak kong marinig iyan mula sa iyo Datu” sabi ng mangingisda na siya ring pag-alis nila mula sa bahay ng mangingisda. “O asawa ko, aalis muna ako ng bahay sapagkat sasamahan ko pa si Datu. Na nais masilayan ang ating magandang pamumuhay dito sa tabi ng dagat”. “Oway karuma ko, nawa’y gabayan kayo ng lumikha” sagot naman ng asawa ng mangingisda. Pumayag naman ang mangingisda sapagkat utang na loob niya ang pinatuloy siya ng pinuno ng mga magsasaka sa kanilang lupain na parang kasapi ng angkan. “Itong ang mga nakalagay dito sa tabii nitong mga bato ay panghuli ng mga isda at mga alimango” sabi ng mangingisda sa Datu ng mga magsasaka.

Ko mapasad iran malaebaet a bala sabala a sakop a mga bangsa a patotogaes, na tumiyaros siran ko walay o mapuro o mga patotogaes. “Bolos kano!, sa kapipiya a ginawa.” Pitaro o Datu o mga patotogaes. Aya iran daen kiyapakasolaed na inalaw siran o Datu a kanduri sii sa paekaenanan “Untod kano na kan kano ko mingi paeriparado ami rkano”, madakael a lino a mingi paeriparado o mga patotogaes lagid o piyagiyaw a saeda, pitinola a saeda ago adaen a mga unga a pamomolan. “Mga antunaa onon ini?” pakaisa o datu sa ginawa niyan. Miyasaegipa o Datu o mga bangsa taribasok a da a baegas sii ko paekananan.

Nang matapos nilang malibot ang bawat parti na sakop ng mga tribung mangingisda, ay tumuloy na sila sa bahay ng pinuno ng mga mangingisda. “Tumuloy kayo sa mabuting buhay” sabi ng Datu ng mga mangingisda. Pagkapasok palang nila ay sinalubong na sila ng Datu ng salu-salo sa hapag-kainan “Maupo kayo at kumain sa aming inihanda para sa inyo”, maraming ulam ang inihanda ng mga mangingisda tulad ng inihaw na isda, tinulang isda at mayroon ding bunga ng puno (prutas). “ Ano ang mga ito?” tanong ng Datu sa sarili. Napansin ng Datu ng mga magsasaka na walang kanin sa hapag-kainan.

Magan a minisa “Inoto? langon a lino a mapapadalaem sii ko paekananan na da ba ron karne ago baegas?” paekamamasa a di niyan ron di kataruwa. “Kagiya sabap sa ginan bo e paengakokowa ami a mga paningkauyagan ami sii sa lupa ami”. Somimbaeg mambo so Datu o mga patotogaes o ino gaeyong koto e mapapadalaem sii ko paekananan. Pakagaan so totol na kumiyan siran. Sako mapasad oto na adaen a pipaesadaan o duwa a Datu sa maebida a bangsa, “Badi mapakay a makasung ako mambo ko lupa iyo a dingka di taroon a Kaporoan?”pitaro o Datu o mga Patotogaes sii ko Datu o mga taribasok. Mapasad a giyong koto a pipaesadaan iran na kumiyasoy so Datu o mga taribasok sii sa lupa iran a tagaepada iyan so Patotogaes ago so Datu iran. “Bolos kano sa kapipiya ginawa hay Datu o mga Patotogaes” pitaro o sabaad ko makadadarpa sangkoto a kanduri. Na gyoto mambo e miyasuwa, miriparado so mga bangsa taribasok sa kanduri a ipasaela-saela iran sa kiya bisitaa kiran o patotogaes ago ko Datu o mga patotogaes. “O Datu, dikami dn pagtao” kabasa o Datu o mga patotogaes sa maana a pambaelingan siran sii sa ingaed iran sa kilid a ragat. “Pagilay kano sii ko kapaembalingan iyo sa ingaed iyo mga bolayoka.” simbag o Datu o mga Taribasok.

Agad siyang nagtanong “Bakit? puro ulam lang ang nasa hapag-kainan at walang karne at kanin?” sinabi nito ng nagtataka. “Sapagkat iyan lamang ang mga likas na yaman na nakukuha namin dito sa aming lupain”. Sumagot naman ang Datu ng mga mangingisda kung bakit iyon ang nasa hapag-kainan. Pabilisin natin ang kwento at kumin na sila. Pagkatapos ng iyon ay may napagkasunduan ang dalawang datu sa mag-kaibang tribu, “Kung pwede ay makapunta rin ako sa inyong lupain na sinasabi mong Kaporoan?” sabi ng Datu ng mga mangingisda sa Datu ng mga magsasaka. Pagkatapos ng napagkasunduan na iyon ay bumalik ang Datu ng mga magsasaka sa kanilang lupain kasa-kasama ang mangingisda at ang kanilang Datu. “Tumuloy kayo ng may mabuting buhay. O Datu ng mga mangingisda” sabi ng isa sa mga naroon sa piging. Iyon din ang nangyari, naghanda ang mga tribu ng mga magsasaka ng isang piging bilang pagbibigay giliw sa pagbisita sa kanila ng mangingisda at ang kanilang Datu. “O Datu, hindi na kami magpapaalam” wika ng Datu ng mga mangingisda na ang ibig nitong sabihin ay sila na’y babalik sa kanilang lupain sa tabi ng dagat. “Mag-ingat kayo sa inyong pag-uwi sa inyong lupain mga kaibigan”.

Ko mapita ron otu na miyakauma so mga taga-Raebokaen sa lupa o mga taga-Iragataen a ki aawid siran sa mga ilaw, kamais, ube, mga pangangayamaen ago tuna kasan paen a paekaekuwa iran a paningkauyagan iran roo sa poro. Gaeyoto mambo sii ko mga taga-Iragataen a miyaka-uma siran a ki aawidan iran mambo so mga saeda, layagan, mga pamomorotaen sa ragat ago tuna kasan paen a paekakuwan iran a paningkauyagan a adaen a raekon a mga Iragataen “O datu, katayi so pipasadaan iyo ko Datu ami, sa mingi gulalan ami sa iwit ami sangkayi a lupa iyo so kiyapaesadaan iyo ko Datu ami” kabasa o isa ko mga Patotogaes. Miya-ipos so pira olan na dataro todaen mambo e paekasuwa-suwa sii ko mga bangsa iran. miyabaloy a laelaekaan kiran uman e bangsa sii ko mga lupa iran ago taros daen so kiyapaesadaan iran a so kambaebaegaya. Taman sa miyakauma so madakael a miyangasasalin sii sa ingaed rakaes so kiyaalin o masa sa miyabaloy a kasabapan sa igira kuwan na dadaen a paekaragon o mga taga-kaporoan ago da mambo a paekakuwa a saeda o mga taga-Iragataen, taros a miyada so kapaepaegawid o mga taga-kaporoan sa paekaragon iran sii ko mga taga-kilid a ragat lagid daen mambo sii ko sabala a bangsa.

Kinabukasan ay dumating ang mga taga-Raebokaen sa lupain ng mga taga-Iragataen dala-dala ang mga palay, mais, kamote, mga hayop at iba pang likas na yaman mayroon sila, ganoon din ang mga taga-Iragataen na dumating sa Raebokaen dala-dala rin ang mga isada, alimango, kabibi at iba pang likas na yaman meron din ang mga Iragataen. “O Datu, narito ang napagkasunduan niyo ng aming Datu, na isinagawa namin sa paraan na dinala namin sa inyong lupain ang nasabing kasunduan niyo ng aming Datu” wika ng isa sa mga mangingisda. Lumipas ang ilang buwan na ganoon parin ang nangyayari sa kanilang mga tribu, naging bukas ang bawat tribu sa kanilang mga lupain at patuloy ang kanilang napagkasunduan ang pagbibigayan. Hanggang sa dumating ang maraming pagbabago sa nayon pati na rin ang pagbabago ng klima na naging dahilan ng minsan lang may naani ang mga taga-kaporoan at wala na ring makuhang isda ang mga taga-Iragataen, naging paminsan-minsan na lang nadadalhan ng mga taga-kaporoan ng mga na-ani ang mga taga-kilid a ragat gayun din ang sa kabilang tribu.

Miyauma so gawi na dadaen a maeyaba a mga bangsa taribasok sii ko mga patotogaes para makaawid sa miyaragon, gaeyoto daen mambo sii ko mga taga-kilid a ragat a da siran daen mambo takaedaeg sa Raebokaen. Sabap roo na miyapasad daen so pipaesadaanan iran. Miya-ipos so pipira ragon na miyawa so sabaad ko mga taga-kaporoan kaan makangaeloba sa baego a baelingan ago paemomolaan, gaeyoto daen mambo sii ko sabaad ko mga Iragataen a paepaengiloba sa baego a balingan kaan siran makapagpoon sa baego a kapagoya-oyag, bago a ingaed ago bago a kapipita.

 Dumating ang araw na hindi na bumababa ang mga taga-kaporoan sa mga mangingisda upang mag-dala ng mga na-ani, gayundin ang mga taga-kilid a ragat na hindi na rin umaakyat sa lupain ng mga taga-kaporoan. dahil doon ay natapos na ang kanilang napagkasunduan. Pagkaraan ng ilang taon lumikas ang iba sa mga taga-kaporoan upang maghanap ng bagong matitirhan at matatamnan, iyon din ang ang iba sa mga taga-kilid a ragat, naghanap ng bagong matitirhan upang magsimula ng bagong buhay, bagong lupain at kinabukasan.

Carabao Skin

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Lady Johainee Dimaampao Banocag

The wind blew in my direction and brushed through my skin. But instead of coolness, I felt a stinging sensation creeping.

I always wondered how a breeze could be as burning as the sun in this humid weather.

Droplets of sweat started to form on my forehead, and soon my shirt was soaking wet.  A cold drink would surely quench my thirst under this heat, but every time Ama catches a sight of me elsewhere than the rice fields, he immediately yells, “Kasoy ka sa basak!” (Go back to the rice field!)

One can say that I am worse than our carabao, which is given water when it is thirsty and shade when it is tired.

I looked up at the sky to find a hint of rain, but the fiery sun blinded my sight instead. This won’t do. I need to finish plowing the fields if I want to go home early.

“Taps! Baling ka den, wata, ka miyakaranti-ranti so alongan imanto!” (Taps! Go home, kid. The sunlight is intensely hot right now!)

I followed the voice and saw Bapa Asiz gesturing a shooing motion with his hand.

“Amay den, Bapa. Khagaga aken pen.” (I’ll go home later, Uncle. I can still handle it.)

Bapa Asiz is an old neighbor who taught me how to cut the rice stalks when I was five. Well, I begged him to teach me because Ama said that if I don’t learn how to do it on my own, then I am not leaving the house at all.

Aside from cutting rice stalks, he also promised to teach me how to separate the grains from the stalks in the future when I am a bit older. Now that I am ten, I am going to ask him about that promise.

I think ten seems a good age to learn how to thresh the grains.

Besides, Ama said that if I learn how to harvest rice by myself, then he will let me go to school next year. I can’t wait for that to happen because I’ve never been inside a classroom.

A burst of laughter cut my daydreaming short.

I looked at the main road that runs alongside the rice field and saw kids of my age wearing their school uniforms. They were laughing at me as if I were showing something comical in the vast paddy.

They’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember, but I still don’t know why they do. So, I gave myself a quick look.

Aside from my tousled hair and soiled feet, I couldn’t grasp the reason why I feel teased by the fingertips they kept on pointing at me.

“Inoto ako niyo bes isisinga den?” Why are you always laughing at me?

I had to find out.

“Ilaya ngka man a karabaw anan sa likod ka. Da den a phimbidaan iyo.”

Look at the carabao behind you, he said. There’s no difference between you and it at all.

I glanced at our carabao, which has been helping me plow the land since morning. Its skin is as black as the charcoal that Ama tells me to use when cooking.

I looked at my skin and realized that what they were saying was true. I am dark like a carabao myself! This is so embarrassing.

So, without any hesitation, I impulsively lifted my feet that had been buried in the paddy since the early hours of the day.

I ran and treaded the long highway under the scorching heat of the sun until I heard the water rushing through the laoasaig (river).

The eyes of women doing their laundry were following my every move, but I didn’t care. I need to take a bath and get rid of this carabao skin.

My body was already submerged in the water when I pictured Ama’s furious face when he finds out about me leaving the rice field with the plowing unfinished. However, every time I thought about the other kids mocking what I looked like, I wanted to drown myself in the water even more.

I can’t have my future schoolmates laughing at me again.

“Kurang pen ini.” This is not enough.

I briefly whispered these words under my breath as I searched for a small rock among the big ones surrounding the stream. I found one and immediately brought it back to the water with me.

When Ina was alive, I recall seeing her rubbing a small rock on her body whenever she took a bath at the laoasaig.

She never told me it was the rock doing the work, but her skin was different than mine, that’s why I am going to give it a try. It was neither as white as the dove’s feathers nor the white shell of an egg, but it was nowhere near the murkiness of a carabao’s skin.

I was about to start rubbing the small rock on my body when my eyes caught sight of a white rock under the water. I thought that maybe a white rock could make my skin as bright as it is, too.

I held my breath and immediately swam underneath. As soon as I got a hold of it, I started rubbing it on my skin.

I desperately rubbed it on my arms, on my belly, and on my legs. I rubbed it on my face and on every part of my body where my hands could reach. But even after rubbing vigorously, my skin still looked the same.

“Taps! Antonaa i pezuwaan ka san?” Taps! What are you doing there?

Oh, no! It was Bapa Asiz! If he told Ama about me, then I was surely screwed up when I get home.

I pretended not to hear him and continued forcibly rubbing the white rock on my skin. But instead of white, I saw red on my arms. I lifted it out of the water and saw that my skin was bleeding.

I don’t know if it’s the wound or the realization that my skin was dark, but I felt warm tears uncontrollably rolling down my cheeks.

My sobbing turned into bawling. And before I knew it, Bapa Asiz was already embracing me in his arms, consoling me with his soft shushes.

I haven’t cried so much since my Ina passed away when I was four because Ama thrashed me with a rope every time I wept for something. Because of that, I forgot how relieving it is to cry.

Bapa Asiz and I silently marched our way back to the rice fields. As we arrived, I saw sacks of rice loaded in the back of his old pickup truck, parked at the side of the road.

We sat down at the back of the truck, next to the sacks, and faced the vastness of the paddy.

I caught a glimpse of a carabao from a distance and sighed in disappointment. I was still as dark as the carabaos in here.

“Taps, di ngka pekhayaan a maitem ka. Toos anan o langowan a phindukawan ka sa basak.”

Taps, do not be embarrassed by your dark skin. It’s a symbol of all the hard work you had in the rice fields.

I was surprised to hear that Bapa Asiz knew of my dilemma when I never uttered a word since the time he caught me on the laoasaig.

Because I was worried that he was going to tell me on Ama, I tried to change the subject of our conversation.

“Bapa, anda ngka maguwiten a giyangkai a manga khisasakoon a maregas?”

Uncle, where are you going to take these sacks of rice?

I promptly asked him to divert his attention to anything but the reason behind my sudden outburst earlier.

“Mapasa-pasad so langowan a galebek saya na sa Marawi aken giiphasaan so margas.”

After all the work here is done, I am selling the rice at Marawi.

I just nodded at his answer.

I thought he was going to stop there, but what he said next made me stare in timid bewilderment as the sun slowly disappeared along the lines of the rice fields.

“Katawan ka, Taps, na kenaba bu maregas i khapakay a roranen sa trak ka apiya so karabaw na khapakay aken roranen o magunot raken.”

You know what, Taps, aside from rice, I can also load the carabao in my truck if it’s willing to go with me.

Maybe Bapa knew that I did not know what to say, so he let me sit with him in silence, letting time pass by.

When it got dark, he stood up, entered the driver’s seat, and turned the engine on. The sound surprised me, but nothing startled me more than the voice screaming my name from afar.

“Mustapha! Mustapha, anda ka?! Miyakapalaguy so karabaw, da a pakaid iyan a wata!”

Mustapha! Mustapha, where are you?! The carabao escaped, you worthless child!

The voice did not sound like that of a father worried about his 10-year-old son who hasn’t come home yet, because it sounded like that of a father ready to hit his child again.

I know Ama well. When he uses my real name instead of the nickname given to me by Ina, it means that he is very furious.

The idea of another sleepless night with bruises on my skin made my heart race with fear.

As Ama’s voice was getting nearer, my head was telling me to run, but my gut feeling was saying something else. 

When I finally saw Ama’s figure from the other side of the road, I decided to follow my instinct. Before I realized what I was doing, I was already inside the passenger seat, telling Bapa to start driving.

I am not sure of what happened to the carabao I lost, but I was sure that since then, Ama lost two of his carabaos and they never returned to the rice fields again.