One Community, Different Walks of Life
- Jonell Gregorio
- Jan 6
- 6 min read
| By Aleyah Trisha T. Daulong and Avril Avia B. Valenzona
In the peaceful land of Batan lies a quiet and hidden community that is slowly yet surely thriving, a community that is surrounded by the ocean, and a community where its people have a sense of identity- the Barangay of Ipil.
For generations, its residents relied on the abundance of the ocean and clay-rich land to survive and keep their community growing and lives going. Mornings are their reminder, afternoons are when their solace is found, and evenings are when they whisper a silent prayer that tomorrow would be a day of a blessed harvest.
Every paddle against the water, every broken shells, every damaged fishnets, and every molding of the soil symbolizes their dedication, years of labor, and how much they treasure the very reasons they're still breathing.
"Mabahoe ta kamon ron. Dikaron malang among nasaligan. Sa 30 anyos namon nga pagpangabuhi, dikaron malang gid, sa pag pangisda."
During that span of three decades, he sustained the needs of her family- may it be their daily necessities or his children's education. Their family values fishing as it is the reason why they still wake up every morning and work tirelessly to survive and feed his family. He has four children and one of them already graduated from college, and fishing was the only job that supported them.
And as much as the ocean provides, nature also has its ways of slowing down the kind of life people have.
"Uwa man abi gaparehas, kung-amat 1,500 o 2,500 [pesos]. Kahapon ngani 450 [pesos] eang."
A struggle that the fishermen like Ares faces are the calamities that nature brings; destroying the resources that they use for fishing. Despite that, it is enlightening that they know how to be content with what they have caught as they understands that the ocean also has its seasons, the "Ugsad" and "Eati."
During the season of "Ugsad," whenever the moon is shining bright, their harvest is slow. Unlike during the "Eati" season, when darkness fills the sea, they have an abundant harvest. With this exact reason, fisherman like Ares prefers the one when they would get more catch.
For talaba farmers, patience is also important for them as much as strength. In the shallow waters, lines of bamboo poles are filled with oyster clusters that takes months, or even a year, in order to grow. And although they spend all those long days and nights of waiting for the fruit of all their labor and hard work; all of those could be wiped by a single storm or polluted water.
She is one of the talaba farmers that lives at Barangay Ipil and has 11 children. She and her husband are planting oysters and that is the reason why and how they survived throughout the years.
As it is their main source of income, during months of waiting for the harvest, they pick up oyster shells from the piled up cracked shells that they had already broke.
"Sa makara ngara nga gatiltil kami hay among kita kara kahapon hay 300 [pesos] kada baso. Pero kung sa sinako namon nga baligya hay 1,000 [pesos].
This is also the reason why their shore is already filled with piled up shells of oysters. And this is the only witness and a visible proof of the perseverance and the hardships they have experienced since day one that even their feet recognizes the sharp edges of the shells.
"Mabudlay man ngani kamon do taeaba ngara kung daya ra among hueaton mag harvest hay dinag-on man bago mabuoe nimo; hay gausoy mgan kami it ibang trabaho nga mapagkakitaan namon."
"Gatangis ka man don kung siin ka mabuoe [it makaon ag panggastos]. Karon eang gid man among kabuhi man, maskin papaalin hay nakakaraos man kami. At kung-amat hay nagugutoman man ngaron hay nakakakaon man gihapon."
And as she thinks of all the struggles they have faced, she couldn't help but to smile bitterly.
In the land, the wives are waiting as their husbands already departed to the sea.
Every sound of the engine is a reminder of another day without a husband nearby. The morning isn't yet starting but the fishermen are already on their duty- sailing across the loud, cold, and windy sea.
Since she was still a teenager, she already had the knowledge of sewing a fishnet that she learned from her mother.
For 17 years, May has been helping her husband on fixing the broken fishnets that will be used during their next sail.
"Bukon man gid masyadong gakalisod hay siyempre sambilog malang among unga."
As she carefully yet skillfully knitted the fishnets back together, she slowly unraveled the story of their lives. Whenever her husband goes fishing, she cooks lunch for him. And whenever she's sewing their fishnet, her husband does the household chores.
"Uwa man gapareho, gha. Kaina hay 600 [pesos], isa ka-taba eat-a ron."
Just as what she had stated, what her husband caught in fishing is not always the same as there are days when it's abundant and there are ones that are not.
Aside from the generous ocean that covers their land, what makes Barangay Ipil more interesting is the fact that nature also provides rich clay that some of the residents use for pottery.
"Nag-umpisa gid siguro ako ga 10 [years old]. Kat unga pa ako hay gatan-aw ako kay nanay, daw nahiligan eon baea," Marites said as she reminisced the past.
The pots and jars were created by steady hands that were passed with the ability from the older generation; the very hands that molded every dream, passion, and dedication with precision.
Although the resources they need could be found around their area, there will always be some circumstances that would double the hardship they will about to face every time they go to gather what they need.
"Kung abutan kami it uean lalo na kung mageaha. May posibilidad man nga maeunot ing ginaeaha," Marites uttered.
"Mga tig tatlong dominggo man abi bago ka makaeaha. Perming delay hay siyempre gauean," Elvin added.
Due to the unpredictable weather, the process of doing pottery takes longer than usual because the resources like the clay and woods are sensitive to water, specifically to the rain.
"Makara ngani medyo uwa eon gid hay sa taba eon abi ag medyo ano [mahina] eon man abi atong eawas," Marites said.
Marites and Elvin are not just the people who knows how to make pots around their area. There are elderlies that are also passionate on doing pottery.
However, as time goes by, the pottery at Barangay Ipil is slowly dying. It is slowly fading through time, physiological reasons, and practicality.
They find it hard to continue creating pots not just because of having few customers, but also because of their weakening bodies, and that they have found another job that could sustain them. And if you would ask them, the profit they gain from fishing is better than the one from pottery.
In pottery, there is art and expression. In sewing damaged fishnets, there is skill and thoughtfulness. In planting and breaking oyster shells, there is patience and hope. In fishing, there is everything. From the way they make the cages, the techniques they use to catch the fish, and how they nurture what they have, there is growth.
During weekdays, instead of vehicles, you'd hear footsteps; instead of horns, you'd hear the laughter echoing as the Ipilianon pupils and students walk their way to their schools. Every afternoon, you would see multiple children drenched in sweat and some that are still wearing their uniforms, playing with their friends until the sun sets.
Barangay Ipil is not just a place where people just thinks about working and surviving. It is thriving- gently, quietly, and strongly. It is a place where all people belongs; a small community that has a huge sense of unity. A neighborhood that borrows and lends strength and hope to one another. A safe space for the children- the next generation that will inherit all the treasures of this village where every individual has their own walk of life.
In this rural community, the Ipilianons found a sense of identity. And the kind of environment that they have and maintain is a reflection of who they truly are.
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