I'm writing this on Tuesday, 14June05 on my computer at site and will post it this weekend.
Today, after my first full day of school I went with three other teachers to pay respects to Mila Killip, the Home Economics teacher whose mother died on Friday. She is one of the two teachers who I had met last month during my site visit here. This was my first time in the Philippines to visit someone’s home while they were honoring their dead, so I will try to explain how the experience went for me.
First, we walked up the mountain that sits directly behind the school. This is where Mila grew up and has been caring for her mother who was diagnosed with a brain tumor last December. Winding up the side of the mountain is a worn dirt trail covered with pine needles. We treaded slowly, but finally made it to the top.
When we arrived family and friends were gathered outside and within the home, which is a framed house with corrugated tin siding. As the four of us approached, I was third in line. Several Igarots (indigenous mountain people) greeted us when we arrived. We entered the house and saw a simple pine box on a stand that contained Mila’s mother. The portion of the box above her head and shoulders was cut out and was draped with a sheet of clear plastic for viewing. Whenever I entered the house, I followed the other teacher’s lead and sat on the sofa. Mila came over and sat between us and thanked us for coming. We visited with her for a while about how difficult it will be for her without her mother. She is the youngest child and was the closest to her mother.
After a while, a spry native woman who appeared to be in her 80s stood in the middle of the room and addressed Mila and her mother and the rest of the room in Ilokano. She began to sing and talk in a very comforting and soulful tone. She looked on the dead woman and spoke and sang to her. Then she turned to Mila and told her stories of when she was young. Even though I didn’t understand most of her words, I was touched by her caring spirit. The support that she and those who followed showed to Mila was comforting.
Following the woman’s soliloquy, three men spoke and sang in the same manner. They spoke from the heart, but were not as moving as the woman had been. The men were drinking gin and some were drunk, but the women were all sober. After the solos, one of the men played the guitar and we all sang hymns in English. Plastic folders with pages of typed, fading lyrics were passed around. We sang about ten songs.
Before we left, the man who was playing the guitar was singing extemporaneously and he told me, in song, to go look at the dead woman. (He must have noticed that I had avoided viewing her when I walked in). So I did. She looked like a skeleton covered with dark brown skin. Her eyes were sunken into her head. I felt a bit alarmed and disturbed at first, but I stood and looked at her long enough to get over my shock. I don’t think I’ll have bad dreams tonight, but then again, I may. It was almost dark when we left.
The trip down the hill was even trickier than the trek up due to the waning sunlight, steep grade, and slippery pine needles. But we all made it without incident. Thank God it didn’t rain!
