‘I vowed that day that the next history lesson I would impart to them would be about the town of Baclayon, and how that name came about in pre-gender equality times!’
A FEW weeks ago, I was in Butuan with two guys born in 1999 and 2000 and we were chatting about a variety of things when our discussion wandered towards Magellan and the Spanish colonization of the Philippines.
Because we were in Butuan, I was reminded of some conflicting claims in our history. So I asked them: where did the Spaniards first celebrate mass in the Philippines?
I have to admit: I was surprised that seconds were ticking away and I couldn’t get an answer. Was I generational? My thinking at that time was that if I were to ask the same question to someone from my generation, I’d get an answer in no time. Then again, I also realized that “my generation” I had in mind were my classmates in UP elementary school or high school, who may not really be representative of “my generation.”
Yet as I waited, I wondered: was this taught in grade school or high school? Were these two guys absent on that specific day that the first mass was discussed?
Or haven’t they read about it at all? Then I realized they weren’t the readers my friends and I were in part because they have gadgets that are more fun to tinker with than book pages. So reading about the first mass would have been highly improbable. It would take a YouTube video, perhaps, for the lesson to sink in with my two friends.
Anyway, I waited for my friends to hazard a guess. I tried to keep silent while they wracked their brains (though they didn’t seem to be trying too hard if you ask me). Seconds turned into minutes, five minutes into ten, and I started to worry that 10 minutes might turn into 10 hours before one of them cheats and Googles the answer. So I pressed, not too gently, forcing one of them to finally answer after I said they didn’t have to worry as there were no right or wrong answers. (Of course, I was lying).
“Mactan” boomed one of them, semi-confidently. “Wrong!” I boomed back.
Ano ba kayo, I said: for sure alam ni Mayor Guo ng Bamban ang sagot kahit sa farm lang siya nag home schooling.
And that’s when I took it upon myself to school my friends. The first mass, I said, was held in a place now called Limasawa. Butuan (where we were) had a rival claim as the first site but that seems to have been rejected with finality by the historical commission, I said.
But why Limasawa? That’s not the real name. You see (I told them), when Magellan landed on an island off the south of Leyte, he began gesturing about the land on which he had set foot, his arm making a sweeping gesture. The locals interpreted that to mean he was pointing to the local chieftain who was also present, and the womenfolk beside him. One local said “Lima asawa” or “five wives,” referring to their chief. But the Spaniards didn’t have Google Translate so what stuck was Limasawa and that’s what the guy who was writing things down for the whole journey jotted down on his log.
I stopped and smiled, feeling good about myself. They smiled too, knowing a bit more about Philippine history.
I vowed that day that the next history lesson I would impart to them would be about the town of Baclayon, and how that name came about in pre-gender equality times!
