This is going to be a mouthful.
Now, this brings me to the bridge above where you stand K-Spy. Slice the width of that foot bridge in half, replace the matted bamboo planks with two skinny logs the size of malnourish lampposts, side by side fastened by abaca-braid, done by hand.
Imagine the conjoined-sister-logs are now suspended midair upheld by bamboo poles. For railing, strips of joined (sinumpay---to make the lengh of the bridge) strong vines stripped off leaves, bound, the size of four fingers fused together.
To reinforced the bridge, there were sets of bamboo poles planted along side it, and at the top of each pole, sits a wooden box to hold earthen jars (tadyaw) to catch rainwater.
If it wasn't raining, the jars were kept covered with white, rim painted blue
plates, to keep mosquitoes at bay.
Pero an tino-ud inday pila ka dusina an ako yainom na mosquito larvae.
By now, youâ€™re probably wondering where this is going.
The bridge, you see, is what connects the kitchen to the outhouse that rest on stilts few yards down below, but, the outhouse is standing at the same level as the kitchen. Yes, it was the shortcut, the skyway, the flyover to the kasilyasan.
The house was built on a hillside. From the kitchen, the bridge started out at approximately 7 or 8 feet above ground (a noisy over populated wire-bamboo chicken coop was below the kitchen floor) but by the time the bridge extend to the outhouse, it almost doubled in depth
. Suffice it to say that their outhouse, which only now I can honestly say, resembled an oil rig platform or a freestanding treehouse was the best feature of the house, at least, to me, that is. There was no tube leading to a hole in the ground so what happened to the waste material that exited one's bottom that the night before was roasted chicken on the dining table, was anyone's guess.
I like it there. The relatives lived "somewhat" inland. When we were there, we ate a lot of meat, chicken in particular. No electricity means no refrigeration. I don't recall us eating fresh fish. No takla, no alimango and NO
nokos and kugita. (at the rate mollusks decompose, it will be liquid when it get there) Fish for sale were either iced over, eyes so red, deep into their sockets or salted (tinabal and daing).
What I enjoyed most was their living room lightly painted in yellowish/orange with dark wood furniture which, what seems to me, represented the inside color of gilagila papaya
. And I mean it in a very nice way.
I tell you
when it rained, I had to think twice making a deposit.
The twin logs were slippery as slimy eels when wet and the bagon
railing sagged, rendered useless. More than once I found myself precariously dancing mixed steps of murderous tango/chacha in defiance of gravity to save dear life. If only I could turn back time.