Monday, 22 June 2015
Entry Writer: Edward Cleofe
Kiangan, Ifugao Province, Philippines
"Welcome to Kiangan!" we heard walking from our bunk house toward Kiangan village proper yesterday. The speaker, an elder woman in a flowing red cloth wrap, smiled a toothless grin at us as we meandered by her home. Twelve of us in all, the group kept together in a loose single file along the side of the ride to avoid getting hit by speeding motorcycles, tricycles, and jeepneys.
To the uninitiated, tricycles (motorcycles with sidecars welded on with reinforced rebar) and jeepneys (converted and highly decorated former military jeeps) are the most common forms of transportation in the provincial areas of the Philippines.
We made our way down a winding sometimes-cobbled-sometimes-paved-sometimes-dirt road, eventually reaching a group of tricycles. Four at a time, we boarded and asked, "Bayan, Kuya!" (roughly, 'To town, sir!"). The art of being a tricycle passenger is a balancing act of squishing in as many people and things as possible, holding on for dear life, and enjoying the ride.
As the person most familiar/comfortable with Philippine transportation safety standards in my group of four, I (was) volunteered to ride on the back of the sidecar, attached by only a hand, some grit, and even more luck. During visits to my parents' home provinces as a kid, I was expressly forbidden from riding on the back of tricycles. My face was split by an enormous grin, the kind that can only emerges when a child is knowingly doing something naughty.
Once in town, the dozen of us wandered around, checking out various convenience stores, souvenir shops, and restaurants. Locals' reactions were mixed and often hilarious. Young children shyly grinned at us from behind their mothers' legs, shopkeepers polished their wares and beckoned us in as we walked by, and one group of young men catcalled the women in our group. "Hello, Brightness!" directed at a white, blonde, and female member of the crew, was particularly notable (and led to the birth of our group's first field name).
Until I open my mouth and stumble and fumble my way through basic Tagalog phrases, I blend in pretty well in Ifugao. Our crew--a mix of Philippine, white, Black, and multiracial folks--earned its fair share of stares. Walking a few paces behind the others, I was able to watch locals watch us.
The Ifugao Archaeological Project is, at its core, an endeavor in public archaeology. For a few moments at a time, I could see us--simply as a function of being around--making a splash. We did our best to be respectful, not take up too much space, use appropriate honorifics, and tip generously.
As the day went on, the majority of the group went home. Four of us--two Filipinos, a Black woman, and a white woman--stayed behind. In our smaller group, we attracted much less attention. By the time we hopped on the tricycle home, we weren't getting second looks.
Maybe, I thought, we had already outlived our splash. Today, as we walked back down toward town, we were greeted by a familiar, toothless grin: "Again, the white people are here!" We all laughed.
Entry Writer: Edward Cleofe
Kiangan, Ifugao Province, Philippines
"Welcome to Kiangan!" we heard walking from our bunk house toward Kiangan village proper yesterday. The speaker, an elder woman in a flowing red cloth wrap, smiled a toothless grin at us as we meandered by her home. Twelve of us in all, the group kept together in a loose single file along the side of the ride to avoid getting hit by speeding motorcycles, tricycles, and jeepneys.
To the uninitiated, tricycles (motorcycles with sidecars welded on with reinforced rebar) and jeepneys (converted and highly decorated former military jeeps) are the most common forms of transportation in the provincial areas of the Philippines.
We made our way down a winding sometimes-cobbled-sometimes-paved-sometimes-dirt road, eventually reaching a group of tricycles. Four at a time, we boarded and asked, "Bayan, Kuya!" (roughly, 'To town, sir!"). The art of being a tricycle passenger is a balancing act of squishing in as many people and things as possible, holding on for dear life, and enjoying the ride.
As the person most familiar/comfortable with Philippine transportation safety standards in my group of four, I (was) volunteered to ride on the back of the sidecar, attached by only a hand, some grit, and even more luck. During visits to my parents' home provinces as a kid, I was expressly forbidden from riding on the back of tricycles. My face was split by an enormous grin, the kind that can only emerges when a child is knowingly doing something naughty.
Once in town, the dozen of us wandered around, checking out various convenience stores, souvenir shops, and restaurants. Locals' reactions were mixed and often hilarious. Young children shyly grinned at us from behind their mothers' legs, shopkeepers polished their wares and beckoned us in as we walked by, and one group of young men catcalled the women in our group. "Hello, Brightness!" directed at a white, blonde, and female member of the crew, was particularly notable (and led to the birth of our group's first field name).
Until I open my mouth and stumble and fumble my way through basic Tagalog phrases, I blend in pretty well in Ifugao. Our crew--a mix of Philippine, white, Black, and multiracial folks--earned its fair share of stares. Walking a few paces behind the others, I was able to watch locals watch us.
The Ifugao Archaeological Project is, at its core, an endeavor in public archaeology. For a few moments at a time, I could see us--simply as a function of being around--making a splash. We did our best to be respectful, not take up too much space, use appropriate honorifics, and tip generously.
As the day went on, the majority of the group went home. Four of us--two Filipinos, a Black woman, and a white woman--stayed behind. In our smaller group, we attracted much less attention. By the time we hopped on the tricycle home, we weren't getting second looks.
Maybe, I thought, we had already outlived our splash. Today, as we walked back down toward town, we were greeted by a familiar, toothless grin: "Again, the white people are here!" We all laughed.
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