When we arrived at Buscalan, Francis was greeted by many of the village folks even from afar. The three of us from Metro Manila were met with genuine smiles from the villagers just the same. While some of the houses we passed by were constructed in modern designs and were made of cement, there were still remnants of wooden huts that were still being occupied by villagers. Pigs and chickens were free to roam as they like and you could spot them walking the paths of the village.
When we finally arrived at Whang-Od’s household, the outer façade of their house was covered with photographs of travelers who have come and go. We were treated with the warmth and hospitality you would expect from your own family. It was also then that we first met Grace, the grandniece of Whang-Od, one of the people we often read about in blogs, books and watched on documentaries. Grace and her mother served us coffee (Kalinga grown sweet barako coffee) and we lounged until Whang-Od arrived. As we were lounging and talking, Whang-Od unexpectedly came and joined us. All of a sudden, we three travelers from Quezon City, Makati and Manila were overwhelmed with starstruck.
It was immediately decided that after we finished our coffee, the girls would have their tattoos done first because the sun was already beginning to set and it would be difficult to have the tattoos done with minimal lighting. That also meant that I would have to wait until the morning to have my tattoo done. A hard cover book about Whang-Od was given to us to look through. The book contained pages of several designs to choose from. Mimi and Keisha decided on their designs and chose to have them done on their forearm. It was also decided that Whang-Od and Grace would alternate working on Mimi and Keisha’s tattoos so they would be able to receive and feel the work from both the master Kalinga tattoo artist and the apprentice.
The tattoo ink used was made of pine soot. The needle was fashioned together with a sharp thorn attached to the end of a stick. A heavier stick was used to tap the thorn into the skin in order to drive the ink in. Imagine having thousands of pricks being made on your skin from the thorn being tapped away into your flesh at about a hundred times a minute. It was no wonder that these tattoos were reserved for the bravest men and women of the tribe. From the beginning of the tattoo session, I could tell Keisha could feel quite a bit of pain. She made facial grimaces and occasionally closed her eyes. Beads of blood started to emerge from the tiny prick holes and started to pool together. “Parang McDo ketchup lang.”, Keisha commented (It’s just like ketchup from McDonalds). Mimi showed more of a flat affect and didn’t seem like she was getting hurt, but admitted that she was in a quite a bit of pain, as well.
After enduring being perforated with tiny holes of ink, both Mimi and Keisha were all smiles, satisfied with the masterpieces they just received and proud from tolerating the grueling tattoo session like warriors. Keisha’s tattoo was finished in 30 minutes while Mimi’s lasted a little longer in 45 minutes. A picture session with Whang-Od and Grace followed to serve as souvenirs to take back, as well as bragging rights to show off to friends back in Metro Manila. They then directed us weary travelers to the bathroom where we could take a bath and freshen up.
That night, we stayed at Grace’s house. Mimi, Keisha and I, having done our research, knew to bring medicine, matches and snacks as kind donations. I brought antibiotic ointment for myself to treat my tattoo for when I got it, but I also gave my travel partners some, and the rest I gave to our guide Francis to distribute to whoever he thought fit. Grace’s mother prepared us dinner and the four of us, who have been hiking up the mountain for hours, had a well-deserved hearty meal. Shortly after our dinner, we decided to enjoy ourselves with some drinks.
Mimi and Keisha took off in the morning for Sagada. Francis came with them and showed them the way back. We made our payments to Francis at our negotiated price. When we asked Francis how much we should give Grace and her family for the dinner and place to stay, he said, “Whatever you feel in your heart.” I stayed behind and took a morning stroll through the village and the rice terraces. When I got back to Grace’s house, Whang-Od was already prepared to work on my tattoo.
I chose the centipede design because I learned that it was a spiritual guide given to Kalinga warriors, not to mention that it looks totally badass. I decided to have my tattoo done across my right deltoid where I could keep it concealed for future employment reasons. Whang-Od started tap-tapping away and at first the pain wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, then there were certain parts that I was in disbelief in the kind of pain I was experiencing. I noticed that parts where my muscle was tight and leaner, the pricking didn’t hurt as much. Parts where there was more loose skin or fat than muscle though hurt exponentially more. I also felt that looking at the needle amplifies the pain even more. I could clearly see how the needle was pulling my skin up after each stab at my skin.
When the tattoo was halfway done, Grace took over and did the rest. Her hands were a bit heavier, but understandably so because she’s a novice compared to the master Whang-Od. In about 45 minutes, my tattoo was done, beads of blood dripping and all. Grace applied a coat of coconut oil on the tattoo and suggested that I not cover it for the meantime and air it out. The usual photo ops with Grace and Whang-Od followed. After the pictorial, I was told to come back in the house to have lunch.
I had lunch with Grace’s mother and father. Grace’s father informed me that he would help me down the mountain; they knew I wanted to start trekking down early in the afternoon so I could catch the bus back to Quezon City from Tabuk. I expressed my gratitude, said our goodbyes and I was off.
The hike down was not the hike up that Francis took us through, but just as amazing. They’ve already begun making cement stairways along the edge of the mountains and, though they were steep and narrow, carved as beautifully as the rice terraces. Eventually we reached a waiting shed where I was introduced to a guy named Gilbert. The plan was to ride with Gilbert on a motorcycle the rest of the way down, so I did. With no guardrails to protect us from falling off the cliffs, we sped down on winding dirt roads. At Tinglayan, I waited for the jeep to come but, instead, a bus came that was headed to Tabuk. I paid Gilbert, who stuck around with me for a bit while waiting, then said our goodbyes and I was off again.
I reached Tabuk and bought my bus ticket back to Quezon City. I dug my nose in a book that I brought to kill time and it wasn’t too long until the bus came. As I sat in the bus and stared out the window, I began reliving the experience back in my head and appreciating how much I’ve gained from it. Not only did I get a nice getaway from the city, I was able to get a one-of-a-kind tattoo and a glimpse into the culture of the north. I was able to be part of a dying art form linked to the roots of my father’s side of the family. I was able to stand in places that, before then, I would only be able to admire in pictures. I was able to be surrounded by these places and touch them with my own hands.
I was also able to meet Whang-Od, Grace, and the rest of their family; truly the last of their breed. Aside from the legends of Buscalan, I was able to meet lots of good people like Mimi, Keisha, Francis and Gilbert and share stories, thoughts and laughter with them. These were so much more than I expected from the trip. Definitely more than if I decided to spend my afternoons falling off an inflatable banana. It was a meaningful trip that anyone could have, if they only knew that they were able.
