Fiesta postscript

Nora Soriño

ILIGAN City — The late congressman Mariano Badelles Sr. once said: “The city has become a huge flea market.”

He did not mean, of course, that the big market had attracted a lot of mosquitoes, no, fleas.

I agree with him because wherever you are in the city where there is space somebody has set up shop for the “ukay-ukay.” Or for his gimmicks. Like having some cold-blooded creature, like a snake, obey his command. Or some dogs do some “dancing” by the roadside. Or make a “magic” show by some roadside too, and he gets instant audience. And then in the course of his show, he sells some goods that appeal to a person’s health or well-being or to his ego. Like some genitals of some croc which is said to bring back a male’s lost manhood.

Although this city is highly urbanized in classification, when it comes to its fiesta, it is just like any other place in the country. Compared to other places, too, the festivities are longer—more than one month. There are parades, the “sinulog” the drills, the street dancing, the Search for Mr. Maharlika, Search for  Miss Iligan, the “Pagpapakanaog” the Praise Worships of Various Ministries, the “Gabii sa Ludabi,” and so on.

There was also a Mindanao Business Conference by the Iligan Chamber. But with these activities, some well, “flak.” Like during the “silent drill” mainstream media at the venue of the Amphitheater at city hall grounds were “driven out” in favor of the city’s “own media.” I mean, those who praise to high heavens, ah, you know who is to be “praised.” Because we know who pays them

On the 29th, the fiesta day really. As in, what else, but the “eating.”

People come in droves. And traffic is rendered to a stand still.

We’ve seen this all though in the previous fiestas. 

“Pagpapakanaog” to note, which is on the 20th of September every year, signifies the taking down of the image of St. Michael, the Archangel, the city’s patron saint from his perch at the altar of St. Michael’s Cathedral. This signifies his mingling with the people here, and in the process keep the city safe. This is according to believers and practically everybody is a believer, hence the frenzy that comes with it. Tourists come during this time and even those who have taken residence in areas outside this city get back to witness it. (At least, during this time the city’s business atmosphere is “perked” up as throughout the year, it is “lackluster” per assessment of a group who met before the Mindanao Conference proper.)

The “Diyandi Festival” signifies courtship among the people here, the Maranaos, the Christians, and the Higaonons.

I’ve seen them all through the years. I mean the activities although the “participators” are different each time.

And one thing stood out in this writer’s view from where we sit: the Ludabi night. This stands for “Lubas sa Dagang Bisaya.” Meaning the “core” of our own literature. Which is Cebuano or “Bisaya.” Originally, it was only for writers in our own local language. But eventually, it included those who have the interests for our own “Bisaya” songs and dances.

In the past most participants consisted only of the “igo lang,” ok, “oldies,” or the elderly.

This time, the young participated. Those so-called “millenials” and from generation after them, who are called members of “Generation Z?” It was a sight to behold and hear Bisaya being sung with gusto, Bisaya dances being danced with gusto by the youth.

This was in one of the newer fiesta sites: Paseo de Santiago of Atty. Zaragoza, erstwhile city administrator. Again he drove home his point: that those who can’t speak or talk in English are not necessary “bugok.” Or dumb.

“Look at China,” Atty. Z said in his speech as he is the national president of Ludabi. “Once, they were just colonized by Japan. But because of cultural revolution, look at where they are now.”

China is now a world power. (There was even a time when it was called a “sleeping giant.”) They love their own culture, their own language. They are not “pa-enlis-englis” people.

And so, as this is a postscript, we too end with the standard expression of P.S. of yore: “I love you.” This is for all who read this piece. And even those who don’t.

Viva Señor San Miguel! Viva!