Folklores My Grandma Told Me
Joyce Navarro
We go back in time when Bamban was still a small town, when I lived there with my Grandma, Mrs. Fausta Sibal vda. de Dayrit. I was fortunate enough to have my grandmother still, during those days. My little brother used to call her “Baw”, a name that stuck through the years. To describe her would entail a different chapter. This particular chapter would not even attempt that.
It took me a long time to eat lunch or dinner, perhaps because I enjoyed Baw’s stories, or perhaps I was already too full. I wasn’t sure which came first, my eating slowly or Baw’s colorful stories. Whichever came first, one fed the other, so as Baw’s stories grew more and more interesting, I came to eat slower still. In Kapampangan, it is called “mumutut” (not the same as “mamatut”, mind you).
My Grandmother opened a world that was full of various characters, some even more colorful than what you’d find in “Jumanji”. One of these was the “kapri”. He was a tall, thin, hairy and ugly man of about 10 or 12 feet tall who materialized only when it was dark. His hair was white and disheveled. He had a few hairs jutting off his long chin. He had no teeth and he smiled with his gums showing. He was so tall that he usually sat down with his knees folded before him. He had his arm around both knees and on his other hand, he held a smoked cigar. This “kapri” lived in huge and old trees. The more gnarled a tree trunk was, the uglier the resident “kapri” was. Somehow, the only activities this “kapri” did was to smoke his never-ending cigar and to scare little children who did not eat their vegetables and who did not go to bed early. He was also known to eat little children. All huge and old trees had a resident “kapri”. There was an old, gnarled saraguelas tree beside Baw’s ancestral home. In that old tree lived my “kapri”, the one who made sure I ate tons and tons of vegetables from day to day. When I grew up and left Bamban with my parents and siblings, this “kapri” made sure that my young cousins ate their vegies. I don’t know if this “kapri” was ever a little boy but as far as I know, he was born an ugly old man of about 10 to 12 feet tall.
The “magkukutud” was not as domestic as the “kapri”. The “magkukutud” was usually a female. I was never really sure if there was a male version. It was my understanding that the “magkukutud” was carried by the X genes, and therefore, could only be a female. She looked like any ordinary old woman during the day. On nights when there’s a full moon, she would apply a special oil (“lana” as it is called in the Visayas, pertained to coconut oil) that allowed her to grow bat wings immediately. She would leave her bottom half (from the waist down) in a secluded corner of her house and as she sprout bat wings, she would fly out into the night and look for pregnant women. Houses at that time were nipa huts and the “magkukutud” could easily let down her long thread-like tongue in-between the tiny holes in the roof of the tiny hut into the woman’s fat belly. The “magkukutud” would then suck the unborn baby out of the mother’s womb. (This procedure somehow reminds me of sucking a duck embryo out of a warm balut.) This “magkukutud” is probably the Kapampangan version of the Tagalog “manananggal”. If the pregnant woman noticed this thread-like tongue against her belly, especially near her umbilical area (in other words, her belly button), she could quickly snip it with her scissors and the “magkukutud” would fall from the roof and die. She would then attempt to fly back to her other half (in this instance, the term “other half” has a different meaning in that it refers to the remaining bottom half of the anatomy). If one wanted to prevent the “magkukutud” from rejoining the half she left behind, one could apply crushed garlic to the raw upper surface of this part. If the “magkukutud” cannot rejoin her other half, she would eventually die.
Anthills were always considered as the homes of supernatural beings in the Philippines. As children, we used to say “Apo, apo, makilabas ke pu. Ikayu pu akakit yu kami, ikami pu era ko akakit.” (Elder, elder, please let us pass. You can see us but we cannot see you.) This is an acknowledgement that the little beings who lived inside the anthill were more powerful than the kids who played close by. It is said that if a child did not say those words, the little gnome who lived in the anthill would cast a spell on the intruder. We did not exactly know anybody who ever went under such a spell. Nevertheless, we were wary of the unknown.
We had a river in Bamban named Mabanglu. A few children and young men who swam in the summer have drowned here. It is said that the mermaid or “sirena” who lived in the river would appear to one who dove underwater and cast a spell on the swimmer. The “sirena” would entice the diver by showing him riches beyond his wildest imagination, thus the diver would go after these gemstones and gold. The diver was not aware that the “sirena” was guiding him deeper and deeper into an underwater cave. As the diver realized he was hungry for air, he could not find his way back to the surface because he was already lost in the underwater cave. Some people thought there was a powerful underwater force that somehow sucked divers to that cave. The river itself was from a fresh spring that fed the river with cool, crystal-clear water. It was a pleasant place to have a summer picnic with the family. It was an unspoiled place in Bamban, a place far from the impurities of the city.
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