I saw several women joining the mad crowd, asking for a slice of ketchup-drowned pizza hut. But men got rowdier, a literal take on horses on the loose. Women sidestepped and just danced to the maddening beat of the drum while men in the arena of madness got more intense, rowdier, madder. When the imagined betting started, men pushed forward to the center where the mediator stood with two helpless, clueless animals in hand. Trying to document the act, I found myself in the rushing flood of men. I momentarily forgot the rowdiness of Baliw-Baliw. Men did not care if I—a woman— was there. I joined the bizarre, mad crowd; I was expected to deal with the insanity. Two years ago, I almost got trampled by the men crowding the fight when I tried to get a worm’s eye view. My fall didn’t bother them. They kept on shouting and betting. Some men danced provocatively, showed their nipples, stuck out their butt, grinded against one another in front of the chapel. They acted and looked possessed. They all seemed real and truthful to the act.—an excerpt of my essay Baliw-Baliw: Olango's Bizarre Culture published on Manila Bulletin
Quite a peculiar tradition but interesting all the same.
ReplyDeleteYeah, I agree. :)
Delete