'Ya Anul

It’s past two in the afternoon and she sets up, inside her tiny hut, her usual necessities for the day’s affair: sacks of baliongan (coconut husk), a makeshift pugon (oven) made of empty oil cans, a long, wooden spatula, and trays of freshly kneaded dough shaped into small circles and ovals.

She loads several baliongan on top of her improvised furnace and smoke ascends as she puts them burning gently.  The soft, plump circles and ovals, neatly arranged on top of green banana leaves in groups of five or six are placed inside the hot pugon, one group after the other. Subsequently, a delicious aroma wafts into the air and sends some gastronomic senses stimulated for an afternoon snack.

'Ya Anul's utilitarian furnace.

‘Ya Anul, as she is fondly called, has no name for her delectable pastry, unlike many popular breadstuffs like cheese bread, mongo bread, and pan de leche. People just come every day to her tiny hut, sitting on the corner of the bus terminal where she bakes the most popular bread in town.

   

Born Arnulfa Lozada in 1933 to Venancio Lozada and Maria Antona, she spent most of her life in Marihatag, Surigao del Sur, where even at her age, she remains an incessant figure on that corner of the bus terminal. Her marriage to Antonio Lacreo of Tagbina, Surigao del Sur in 1955 bore them twelve offspring, sustained by Antonio’s job as a government employee at the munisipyo and the unflagging vitality for her craft. She has once worked as a baker at the elementary school canteen during the Nutribun program in the 1980s.

Her process of bread making is left untouched by technology. Kneading is done manually with the help of her children and she sticks with the basic ingredients with no fancy ornamented designs – just plainly shaped as ovals and circles; the oval-shaped being the plain variety and the circle-shaped with bukhayo (sweetened coconut meat strips) fillings inside.

One doesn't need a sophisticated gadget to create something delicious.

Her simple formulation for bread-making, which her children know by heart, is like a family treasure only known to them.  Her youngest son and indispensable assistant Aurelio explains, they follow an accurate and consistent measurement of the ingredients: flour, yeast, salt, sugar, water and a small amount of oil. He adds they put less yeast in their dough unlike many commercial baking processes and they follow a considerable time for proofing (the rest period when the dough is allowed to rise) prior to baking in the oven.

The delicious stuff, seasoned with passion and skill has already been noted, even among the temporary people passing by the bus terminal– drivers, passengers and travelers. The delicious afternoon aroma leads them to that tiny, makeshift hut where ‘Ya Anul and her wooden paddle-like spatula work in constant tandem.

When love and passion are infused into a craft.

At seventy-eight, with many of ‘Ya Anul’s children gone off to marry, she takes pride in her grandchildren, some of them also taking into heart the heritage of her craft. She will continue to bring delight to every afternoon merienda, for soon, that is to be her legacy to her children, her grandchildren, to the people who come to her every day, and to Marihatag in general.  

Note: Apologies for the blurry photos; these were grabbed from the video shot we took of her in 2005. Here's the video link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KIvgofYpGo

Mario Kinghing

You don’t call him Mario. His name is always said full and complete: Mario Kinghing. And it has always been that way. Perhaps there were too many Marios in Marihatag, like the many persons whose names are Dodong, Neneng, and Inday.

But this Mario is not from Marihatag. He is from the farthest, western side of Mindanao, of Muslim descent whose father came to Marihatag on a large fishing boat called balasian in the 1950s.

The rich marine life of Surigao del Sur lured his father into settling in Marihatag. And Tugbungan, near the sabang where the Marihatag River flows out into the vast Pacific, became their home, sustaining their love for the sea and the diverse life beneath it. 

Mario was an indispensable company on his father’s fishing trips, being adept at everything about fishing like his father. He must have learned how to handle a pukot and operate a pumpboat long before he knew how to read. He admits he didn’t like school and would prefer to be at sea with his father as a boy.

Just like his father, he made the sea his sustenance, a life Elma Mondejar of Talacogon unconditionally embraced when he married her in 1974. Fishing was his way of life and his fleet of fishing gear – pukot, langre, subid, and pumpboat were all substantial economic assets for a livelihood that helped him feed and raise nine children.

The construction of new public market at the bus terminal several years ago made a milestone in his life as a fisherman. He moored his pumpboat for good, got himself a stall at the market and went into a business endeavor with his wife

Having established a good network with other fisherfolks from neighboring towns who are into large-scale fishing, it was easy for him to get a suki to deliver his daily, fresh stock of fishes and other seafood to sell. His stall, which he rents for Php280.00 every month, teems with what he says are the most saleable – liplipan (blue marlin), tulingan (tuna), tangigue (Spanish mackerel), nokus (squid), and kuabutan (crayfish). He sells 30 kilos on an average day and peaks during the fiesta in August.

He has ceased from a life of cold, sometimes stormy battles at sea, searching and asking for its bounty. But he never left it altogether. Sometimes, he sets out to the sea alone, his spirit longing for the vast expanse of the ocean. It will remain as a way of life, on that sandy shore of Tugbungan where sunbaked children run barefoot. His periodic longing to set sail will persist for he has forged an innate affinity with the sea.