A couple of weeks ago, some of my high school friends met up in Bacolod, Philippines for the annual MassKara Festival. To the uninitiated, this is a yearly event is a spectacle of dance, procession and food festivals. Oh, and masks. The highlight would be the street dance competition with people wearing elaborate costumes and well, masks. Its a cultural festival as well as a celebration. Some may argue that it's manufactured via a presidential decree in 1977 to promote regional tourism. To be fair, many of it's counterparts were celebrated before the decree came into affect. It just got the presidential stamp of approval.
So what does this have to do with what I'm writing about today?
Almost, pretty much nothing at all.
Or nearly nothing at all.
I actually haven't been to MassKara, which is to my own embarrassment. Come to think of it, it has been more than as decade since I have seen any of the major festivals in the Visayas Region. Cebu has it's Sinulog Festival, Aklan has Ati-atihan and my home province has Dinagyang. Well, to there is also Halaran in Capiz and Binirayan in Antique, but I was always less familiar with those two. When I was younger, I would always take time to check out the processions whenever they would be televised. It was fun. Probably the closest we get to the New Year's parade in New York. Except with Ati-Ati tribal street dancing. Drums and all.
So, maybe it's nothing like the New Year's parade then.
Dinagyang then. Once a year, the heart of Iloilo City would be a nod to several concer driving zone. All this to accomodate a whole long weekend of festivities. Now, while the actual celebration is a two day event, covering the fourth weekend in January, I always preferred the Ati-Ati part of the celebration. There is the Kasadyahan street dance, where groups, usually schools perform artistic street performances. It was fun, but that always played second fiddle to the main event. Oh, and the food festival. Every restaurant, catering company or hotel would setup and outdoor eatery, inviting people to gorge on the best food there was top offer. And there was a lot to on offer. This would always coincide with the nighly sound system competition whch would result in impromtu discos in the street. I think this has evolved to concerts being staged as well, but I digress. Let's just say the nightly events were a great excuse to go out, eat, drink and be very merry.
But on to the main event.
To the uninitiated, the Ati-Ati street dancing is a competition of teams composed of 50 odd warriors and supporting musicians, primarily drummers. The tribe members are painted in brown, and garbed in elaborate headdress and outfits. The outfits are usually made of indigenous materials (Hurrah for the environment! Just don't ask how these acquired. You may weep.) Most of the tribes are based by town or even high school. My own alma mater Iloilo National High school was a multiple event winner. (Ok, we were in the SCC part of the school, but tenuous connection. And I am proud of the old school. ) The whole tribe would then perform a dance routine to a beat of the drums and whatever accompanying instruments. Usually in various sequences and artistic formations stopping only to cry out praise to the Child Christ Jesus, to whom the festival is dedicated. Oh, and " Hala- Bira!". You will hear that a lot. Did I mention each tribe had to do this about five times at a specific checkpoint.
A long day for them, then?
We could spend hours talking about the cultural significance of these festivals. Protection of regional heritage one might say. We could also ramble on the tenuous religious connections that are lend to each festival. Pagan festival plus religious undertones equals justification to celebrate a festival. Still, as much as my natural skepticism will love to rip these festival apart, I cannot deny that they are just so much fun. But more importantly, it's a great excuse to hang out with friends and family to celebrate.
When I was younger, it was tradition in my family to go to the Dingayang Festival to watch it live. My dad would go to the city before the roadblocks would set in and park our jeepney in a strategic position to watch the Ati street dance competition live. He would then send for us to follow and we would pack a huge lunch spread. We would then get to the site, clamber on to the roof of the jeepney and wait for the parade to begin.
One year, we followed the same routine and got a great position to watch the procession. On top of our jeepney, of course. Pa had as usual, forgotten to shave and to get a haircut. For several months, in fact. At this check point, one of the local radio stations was covering the event, giving live update. It was also being broadcast on load speaker. The pair of DJ's decided to talk about the atmosphere.
"So it looks like everyone has come to watch this year's Dinagyang." DJ 1 exclaimed.
"Ah, yes, everyone has come to town," his partner DJ 2 agreed.
"Even Jesus has come to watch!" DJ 1 continued.
DJ 2, thinking his partner had decided to take a religious spin, droned piously, "Of course, He is always around my friend!"
"No, there He is! On the roof of that jeepney! " DJ 1 proclaimed, pointing.
A couple of hundred heads turned at once, in the direction he was pointing.
He was pointing at my dad.
We all looked at my dad quietly, as we all went red with embarrassment. We waited for my dad to explode in anger.
He looked back at the crowd. Winked. Smiled. And took a sip of his beer.
Back to the party then?
It's been years since I've seen it all live. I stopped going, because it didn't seem worth the effort. I preferred to watch it on TV. Then, even that went to the side. It became all too commonplace, not cool. I always said I would go again, but time continued to pass. Soon, it was all but forgotten.
I always said I would go and watch the festival live again. I know, it might be a tourist trap, but it is a fun event. Even better, when attended with friends and family. Maybe next time, I'll even go to the other festivals. An excuse to go to Cebu for Sinulog! (Not that I need much prodding to go there!)Who knows, maybe I'll grow my hair and beard long again.
Maybe I'll get mistaken for Jesus!
