Everything you’ve heard about Siquijor is true.
What Filipinos used to fear about the island — its curses, hexes, and spells, either given directly or delivered through the wind; with fast-acting effects or a delayed, 6-day time-release — are all real.
The fear is legitimate. One of the spells, barang in particular, which is a Visayan term for malicious sorcery, may involve an unexplained swelling of the belly, insects coming out of your mouth, or depending on your punishment level, both. The manifestations, however, aren’t limited to these. A sign to know that you’ve been healed is when you’ve coughed up black phlegm.
This is probably why the country’s spell-givers were exiled to Siquijor by the Spanish friars – Catholics, quite a sinful lot, are taught to fear punishment. Fear of the barang, because this form of sorcery can be felt and seen, packs more of a wallop than that of, say, eternal damnation, which is a concept at best.
It’s probably no coincidence that The Parish Church of San Isidro Labrador in the town of Lazi, which was declared a National Cultural Treasure by the National Museum, is the oldest in Siquijor, while the Lazi Convent across it is the oldest and biggest in Asia. Unable to strike fear in the hearts of Siquijor’s mystic residents, The Spanish colonizers didn’t want to take any chances when it comes to people with enviable spell-giving skill sets.
Still, we have the friars’ collective fear to thank. Both the church and the convent, which were built from indigenous coral rock back in the late 1800s, still have their molave floors intact, making these sites worth the visit.
Contrary to popular belief, however, the esoteric arts aren’t an island-wide practice. These usually happen only in a small village, performed by only one family, and only during full moons. And, the cure can be as simple as downing a cup of special herbs.
“This is why Filipinos fear Siquijor,” said Aipee Dongon, 31, a tour guide who has seen people come to his island to find a cure for various illnesses — real, medical and imagined. “There is some truth to what they hear, but they don’t know the entire story.”
Dongon himself has experienced one of the simpler effects of a hex: nausea, vomiting and a general weakening of the body. For unknown reasons, the family responsible for performing it on him spotted him as he DJ’d for a party in the mountains back when he was 17. Apparently, these gifted families attend town fiestas, where they can practice their skills on random targets, unnoticed.
“I haven’t heard about these things in a long time,” he said. The most recent incident he had heard about may have been in 2005. Again, it happened in the mountains, done by one family, and the moon was full.
The Folk Healing Festival
The presence of Catholicism hasn’t stopped the esoteric arts in Siquijor. It may have, in fact, thrived. Unable to take these centuries-old practices away, the local government decided to capitalize on it to attract tourists.
It worked. As early as 1996, tourism in Siquijor began to grow. By 2012, thousands of people would flock to the island province to attend the Folk Healing Festival, where the country’s healers, magicians, shamans and witches of all preferences, gather together to create potions, recharge their healing powers, and perform ritual cures all under the church-approved label: healing.
Healing, aside from talking to the dead and providing spiritual counsel, is one of the most important roles of the country’s ancient shamans, the babaylan.
Today’s version of the babaylan, the mananambals or folk healers, head for the mountains in Cantabon, San Antonio, the dead caves of Ponong, and Cangmatnog, where cameras aren’t allowed — on Good Friday and Black Saturday, believing that this time of mourning for Catholics, is the best time to harness the metaphysical energies of beings, entities and supernatural forces present on earth.
“Whatever non-believers say, the cures of the mananambal are effective,” said Dongon. “I’ve experienced it myself.”
“One of the executives I know in Seattle goes to Siquijor every year to get healed,” said the CEO of a coffee enterprise in Manila. “He found his healer in the mountains, I forget where. But he makes it a point to make that annual trek. And, he’s not that young.”
Noel Torremocha, one of Siquijor’s more famous healers, is proud that a photograph of his father, healer Pedro “Endoy” Tumapon, cooking a potion in a huge cauldron, landed a full page on the Philippine Daily Inquirer back in April 2007.
“My father was 80 at that time,” said Noel. “I owe my healing powers to him. You can’t study healing. You can’t read about it. You have to be chosen. The learning is experiential. Healing has to be a part of you.”
It wasn’t enough that one is given the opportunity to heal, how one responds to that call is just as crucial. To be a healer, it also takes a certain amount of bravery, courage, daring, and a willingness to face the unexpected and the unknown.
Apparently, similar attributes are required for those who want to visit Siquijor’s shores.