written by William Harvey

Friday, June 8, 2007

We felt every boulder in the dusty road, which tossed us against each other so violently that we almost missed the gentle valleys and the mountains that rose even higher as our car struggled against the rugged terrain. Soon, fluffy clouds glided lazily far below us.

Miarayon's small wooden shacks and two or three rocky, dusty roads hug a tiny portion of one side of an enormous valley. The absolute simplicity of the village-you can forget about landlines, cell phones, internet, the postal service, refrigeration, and automobiles here-combines with the surrounding mountains to create the impression that while the outside world may suffer, Miarayon knows the meaning of peace. The tropical vegetation, near-total quiet, and the mists that routinely enshroud the mountains prompted Jeremiah to exclaim: "We're in the heavens."

We had flown into the city of Cagayan de Oro from Manila, and after meeting Father Dario (the priest of Miarayon) and Katherine Sciglitano (a volunteer with the Cartwheel Foundation, our partner for this project) at the airport, we endured the bone-shaking bumps of the three-hour drive to emerge in paradise. Before dinner, Andrew, Danielle, Jeremiah, Frank, and I walked with Vonnie, a Tala-Andig teenager, out past the elementary school. The views we enjoyed were only slightly more magnificent than our meal, which prominently featured the gigantic and flavorful carrots for which Miarayon is famous.

As partners of the Cartwheel Foundation, we were here to help members of the Tala-Andig tribe develop compositions reflective of their heritage, so after supper, we discussed tomorrow's curriculum by the light of one lone bulb, in the dining room of the two-story wooden house where we would stay for our week in the clouds.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

We woke up in eager anticipation of the ritual that the Tala-Andig tribal elders would perform in order to ask permission from their ancestors to allow the tribe to share their culture with us. The tribe does not have the "tell everyone everything" attitude that characterizes the modern Western culture of Facebook, YouTube, and MySpace, so as they prepared for the ritual, we learned from Katherine that they were not willing to share some of their religious beliefs, as they were "too private." I won't pretend I wasn't disappointed, but I respect their belief that not all information should be had for the asking.

Finally, they were ready for the ritual. Thin clouds stirred around the mountains, listening to an ancient, nearly toothless gentleman intone a prayer in the Binukid language. He had cut up leaves and spread them with a powder made of seashells. We added coins to the table as a sign of respect, and then the elders cut the throat of a chicken and allowed its blood to soak the earth to appease the soil god. Jesus Christ was also invoked, a reminder of the uneasy coexistence of Catholicism and animism.

While the elders waited for the chicken to be plucked and cooked, so we could finish the ritual, we were permitted to start the workshops. Each day, the thirty teenaged children in the workshops will first teach us about the Tala-Andig tribe, and then we will teach them about classical music, resulting in compositions that they will create.

Today, the children presented various traditional dances and songs as the elders looked on. At one point, they said something to Father Dario, who laughed. "They say that young people these days do not do the old dances as well as they used to," he told me. And so it is with all cultures.

For our segment, we introduced the instruments with the Dohnanyi Serenade for Violin, Viola, and Cello, and a solo horn piece that Danielle played. Then, we broke into our pods, the small groups that will create the compositions. I enjoyed the creativity and enthusiasm that seem evident in my own pod. We closed today's session by finishing the ritual: everyone tasted a small bit of cooked, recently deceased chicken.

After lunch, we headed up even higher in the mountains to an abandoned asparagus farm to help pick asparagus and berries for tonight's supper. We also went to a carrot farm to help with the harvest by collecting the carrots rejected for commercial sale so that some of our Tala-Andig friends could convert them into juice. We were honored to help out, and when dinnertime rolled around, we sipped our divinely delicious carrot juice with a certain pride.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Each evening, the clouds creep slowly over the surrounding mountains, hiding and protecting Miarayon, until it emerges in the dawn like Brigadoon. Today's sky was particularly clear as I strode over to the high school to remind our students about the format for today's workshops. When I made it clear to them that they would teach us about Tala-Andig culture for half the time, they enjoyed assuming the role of teacher. "Quiet," a group of young girls told me, sternly stifling their own giggles. "Sit up straight! Chin up!" After I smartly executed all their instructions, one observed, "You look like Mr. Bean," at which they all laughed raucously.

The children presented various Tala-Andig stories, such as the origin story for Miarayon (it is named after an old woman who planted a lot of trees) and a story designed to illustrate all the traditions pertaining to arranged marriage, which is still very common here. If the girl doesn't like a guy, she'll tell her parents and they'll jack the dowry way up, so that she's no longer in the guy's price range.

Today we taught them the difference between the roles of composer, performer, and audience, following a lesson plan constructed by our friend and former Cultures in Harmony Project Participant Chris Gross. The plan worked well, though we had to cut short our instruction in rhythm.

After lunch, I enjoyed practicing and rehearsing on the outdoor stage right near the convent where we're staying. With the mountains, the valley, and a plethora of striking flowers as its backdrop, that and Carnegie Hall are my two favorite stages to play on.

Monday, June 11, 2007

The children in the workshops brought us to a nearby farm today to learn about Tala-Andig farming. The farms are still family-owned and operated, planting crops such as carrots, potatoes, broccoli, and cabbage in rotation. Since they don't use tractors, each of the five of us got a turn behind the cow to try our hand plowing the field. I enjoyed it thoroughly, but learned how hard it is to convince the animal to progress in a straight line.

The class for the children went the best yet. We taught them about themes and musical forms, and in their pods, they proceeded to set their poems to music, develop themes, choose instrumentation, and make other decisions that will lead to the creation of beautiful pieces of music in just a few days' time.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Philippine Independence Day dawned bright and clear. We walked the short distance to the field in front of the church to help Miarayon's school children celebrate the 109th anniversary of the Philippines' transfer from the yoke of Spanish imperialism to the yoke of American imperialism. Certainly, this was the first time in Miarayon's history that French horn, violin, viola, and cello played the national anthem as the flag rose up the flagpole.

The cultural exchange aspect of our workshops has been a lot of fun for us, as we enjoy the unique privilege of learning about Tala-Andig culture. Today, the children built a small replica of a traditional house, weaving together bamboo and thatch. I was intrigued by the raised floor, which sits above the ground to avoid the problems of frequent rain and the mildew that attends such high humidity. Nowadays, they prefer corrugated steel as a roofing material, but the general principles remain the same.

When our turn came to teach, we worked on motives and harmonies. By this point, we have taught the children about enough aspects of Western music-themes, rhythms, forms, motives, instruments, and harmonies-that we felt comfortable spending the rest of the time on developing the compositions, which are taking shape beautifully. My own pod demonstrated an impressive ability to set their poem to music. Though their idea of devoting a section of the piece to clapping initially produced arrhythmic chaos, a short lesson in conducting that I gave them enabled them to weave a groovy, polyrhythmic tapestry of sound.

Danielle told me about an exercise she gave her group: write down your values. As a prompt, she told them to think about things that they feel they must do every day, and then gave her own list as an example: practice, check e-mail, check cell phone. When she asked the Tala-Andig children for their list, every single kid wrote the same thing: sing and dance. No day is complete for them without singing and dancing.

They proved this when a dozen kids spontaneously started doing Tala-Andig dances together after our workshop officially concluded for the day. Danielle and I tried to learn some of the dances, but most proved too difficult for us. It was enough pleasure simply to watch the innocent, unaffected delight they took in their connection with each other and with their shared past.

Katherine and her boyfriend Eric, who has been shooting excellent footage of our workshops, arranged for a friendly fellow named Ping to give us a wonderful guided hike of the surrounding area. He's a teacher and hopes to find a teaching post, which I'm sure he will, given his ability to call our attention to fascinating detail and effortlessly converse with everyone we met on our way.

As if the cloud-enshrouded environs of Miarayon were not already mysterious enough, Ping told us that the foothills contain buried treasure. When the Japanese occupied Mindanao during World War II, they left behind some gold in the hills of Bukidnon, and even today, treasure hunters come from Japan with special technology and maps, hoping to rediscover valuables, perhaps left behind by a relative.

Ping introduced us to the councilor of the first barangay (small village) we encountered, asking the fellow's permission for us to explore. I couldn't help being deeply affected by the site of the councilor and his large family of about twenty people sharing a tent together, sorting the carrots they had harvested. Some of the children looked quite sick and did not have pants.

We were mortified when the barangay councilor insisted on giving us a substantial sack of carrots, but Ping told me that the councilor would have been even more ashamed if we had insisted on paying for them. The councilor seemed to appreciate my use of the Binukid language and the traditional Tala-Andig shirt I was wearing, but through Ping, he said that he would welcome us because "We are all the same; we are all Catholics." I chose not to correct him.

We ascended through ever more magical territory, experiencing the land almost as something out of a fairy tale. We hopped across small streams, pulling our way up the other side by grasping bamboo, then struggling to gain a sure footing on the rocks, in order to avoid the rich mud. When rain came, it brought only gentleness and comfort. When it abated, we drank in the sparkling magnificence of rolling meadows, framed by mountains bearded with mists.

We passed the occasional farm animal, and in small villages, we saw them in less than idyllic contexts. Through some wooden fencing, we glimpsed a backyard in which a couple families had organized an impromptu cockfight. Though we had heard of the practice of fighting with roosters, the idea of horse fighting took us by surprise: I had not known that horses could be made to fight one another.

If the U.S. has perhaps given more respect to animals than is their due, we have taken respect away from people, as was apparent at one house where the little children came out to touch our hands to their foreheads in turn. The five Cultures in Harmony folks, Katherine, Eric, and Ping were all deeply touched by this gesture.

We also enjoyed our encounter with some children in the schoolhouse of Sitio Abel, a tiny barangay of Miarayon. From the blackboard, we discerned that they were in the middle of their English lesson, so I quizzed a tiny nine-year-old girl on her name, hometown, and age. She answered my questions effortlessly. What American, non-Filipino nine-year-old could have answered those questions in Binukid, or even Tagalog?

Our meeting with a tribal chieftain in a small house nearby was even more sobering. His house was built exactly like a much larger version of the replica the children had built for us that morning in Miarayon. We all climbed up the bamboo stairs to the narrow front porch, and I doffed my shoes and followed Eric and Ping into the hut.

The chieftain's family packed the hut, and as Ping spoke with him, a feeling of overwhelming sadness consumed me. This family deserved far more space, and more clothes. The chieftain's aura of authority was awe-inspiring, but I couldn't help noticing that out of those proud eyes, some rheumy substance oozed, and that he had to interrupt himself frequently in order to cough a terrible cough.

According to Ping, the chieftain felt that life was better now for the barangay than when he was young, because of the influx of business. Still, I wanted to do more. Kneeling at his feet and touching his hand to my forehead, I asked Ping to ask him if there was anything we could do for him. His answer surprised me: "Business. Buy things made here." When I asked Ping to ask the chieftain if he had a message for the people of the U.S., the message was the same: "Buy things made here." Here in the Philippines, in Mindanao, in Bukidnon, in Miarayon, in this tiny barangay.

So ordered, we went immediately to the store next door. Danielle had admired what looked like jewelry hanging in the window, but astonishingly, they turned out to be candy wrappers, exquisitely fashioned into a row of hanging pendants. They reminded us of a comment Imelda Marcos had made during our private dinner with her last week: "We Filipinos turn our garbage into something beautiful."

To our dismay, the shopkeepers tried to give these delightful creations to us, even though they clearly needed the money, and the "jewelry" had probably taken ages to make. We insisted on paying, so they insisted on throwing in lots of candy, which Katherine gave to the children in the schoolhouse. We ended up walking away with these beautifully made candy wrappers for a song. Personally, I came away with a sense of both admiration for and frustration with a culture far more generous than our own, but apparently too generous to achieve the kind of success that is only possible through selfishness and entitlement.

We held this potpourri of experiences in our thoughts as we descended to Miarayon, trying to wrap our minds around the concept of poverty and pride ensconced in paradise.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

This morning, instead of the children making a presentation to us, the Guardian of the Dance came to make sure they did their opening Tala-Andig dance correctly. I felt quite a thrill at seeing him: it's awesome that one seat on the tribal council is reserved for the Guardian of the Dance, and I found it hard to suppress the image of him sitting in quiet, Terpsichorean contemplation on some mountaintop until he is summoned to magically transmit the ancient secrets of Tala-Andig dance to the next generation. The truth is hardly any less exciting: he worked with them on only three steps of a dance that has 103 steps and lasts nine days. Fortunately, they will only do a five-minute excerpt on Friday's concert: a bit like playing the first chord of Wagner's Ring Cycle.

Later, my pod finished our piece. I like it quite a bit: the joyousness of the simple melodic motive they crafted, their harmonies, clapping, and enthusiasm. Set to a poem in Binukid penned by one of the group members, the piece beautifully reflects their tribal heritage in its respect for the forest, in the dancing, and in the use of the agong (a traditional percussion instrument). I'll be proud to share a stage with them on Friday.

Again, the children seemed reluctant to leave when our workshops concluded. I sat on a bench with the six members of my pod: Glaiza, Liza, Junabe, Juhara, Winston, and Rose Ann. I was very touched by the interest they showed in my family ("Next time, bring your brother") and in my hometown.

I enjoyed asking them about their families as well. "We will miss you," they said, expressing a desire to see the U.S. some day. When I told them how tall the buildings are in New York, they gasped and said, "Shock!" Amidst the laughter, games, pictures, and conversations, I was most affected by their decision to sing the Binukid friendship song for me, a song traditionally sung to bid farewell to friends. I had to keep my head down during that, thinking of the six wonderful teenagers I'd gotten to know over the past few days, and wondering when I would see them again after Friday's concert.

This afternoon came a performance that will go down in Cultures in Harmony history as the Dog-Nanny Serenade. Together with the children, we were supposed to run through Friday's program in the church. All went smoothly until the Dohnanyi Serenade for Violin, Viola, and Cello. Near the beginning, a large female dog wandered slowly up to the stage. Settling herself contentedly in front of the stage, she proceeded to leisurely lick her private parts during the entire performance. Even when a nun got up to beat her with a stick during the fourth movement, she would not be moved.

As if that weren't enough, the children clapped whenever they felt like it: perhaps a chord change or a viola solo interested them, so they'd burst into applause in the middle of the movement, a sign of unfettered spontaneity that Frank, Jeremiah, and I enjoyed immensely. According to Andrew, when the last movement began, the first several rows of children started "rocking out," practically dancing in their seats and making groovy hand gestures in time to the energetic finale of a piece written by a Hungarian who died half a century ago.

After that performance, we can safely say that classical music is not going to the dogs.

Tonight, we decided to cook a dinner for everyone in Miarayon who'd been so good to us. Frank and Danielle led the project, giving Father Dario a list of ingredients for dishes that would be exotic for the girls in the convent, such as curried vegetables and Waldorf salad. We reimbursed him when he returned from Malaybalay, and Andrew and Jeremiah pitched in...my own poor cooking skills would be an insult to our hosts, not a gift!

They enjoyed the meal. We were especially pleased to give something back to Father Dario, who is a warm, affable, and gracious host, a fascinating conversationalist, and by far the coolest priest we know.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Upon our arrival, I decided to treat all 32 of the young villagers to a meal at Jollibee. You cannot possibly understand how much this meant to them. For many of them, a meal at the Philippines' most popular fast food restaurant is out of reach, and not just because Jollibee does not have any franchises near Miarayon. Many of them had never been there, and talked about nothing else for a long time before our meal there. I'm pleased to say that they seemed thrilled and grateful for the opportunity, and at less than $2 per person, this is the least I can do to repay these kids for the friendship they have so freely offered to the five of us.

We checked in at Covadonga, a Jesuit retreat house. One of the young boys shyly asked Frank, "Sir, can I bathe?" At first, Frank was puzzled by the question, until he realized that the boy simply needed to know how to work a shower. He had never seen one before.

Friday, June 15, 2007

At this morning's rehearsal at Covadonga, the pods frantically molded their pieces into something approaching the form in which they would be presented tonight. An overall atmosphere of optimistic, controlled panic prevailed, though we did our best to calm everyone down. As this was my first time to hear the compositions of the other pods, I was very impressed with some of the originality displayed, particularly in the piece created by Frank's pod, which ends with an energetic chanting of the phrase "I am Tala-Andig" in the Binukid language, accompanied by vigorous dancing.

The dress rehearsal at Xavier University's chapel afforded us the opportunity to try the compositions in the space, which would have been acoustically magnificent were it not for the dozen fans needed to prevent us all from fainting in the heat.

All too quickly, the hour for the final concert approached. The five of us arrived at the Chapel just before concert time, and fortunately, the concert started a half hour late to build a bigger audience. I gave the kids a "company call," something of a tradition here in which you pep up the performers prior to their performance.

I yelled, "Are you nervous?" They yelled, "No!" "Are you excited?" "Yes!" "Are you proud?" "Yes!" they screamed, smiling. "Well, I'm excited and proud too," I said. "Excited to share a stage with you. In one week, you've gone from almost no familiarity with classical music to having composed it. You are composers! And I'm proud. Proud of each and every one of you. I'm proud to wear this Tala-Andig shirt, and proud to know the Tala-Andig, and to have seen Miarayon!" With a raucous cheer, the kids were ready.

The concert began with a Tala-Andig invocation and a Binukid translation of the national anthem, both of which we accompanied. The rest of the first half consisted of pieces performed by Cultures in Harmony. In place of an intermission, I gave a speech thanking everyone who gave so much to make these workshops happen: Father Dario, whose humanism and generous spirit mark him as a shining example of the priesthood at its best. Katherine Sciglitano, the Cartwheel Foundation volunteer who "somehow manages to find solutions to problems before the rest of us even knew they were problems." As a liaison between Cultures in Harmony and the Tala-Andig tribe, she was absolutely invaluable.

After a couple Tala-Andig dances, including the delightful courtship dance, it was time for the kids' compositions. All five of us felt as though these were our children, and watching them was...well, how would you feel? Hearing the group of introverted children you'd coaxed and cajoled for a week belt out the melody they'd created, singing proudly in Binukid? Seeing the giggly, perpetually cheerful Vanny, suddenly transformed into a singer and actress with enormous stage presence? Watching Frank's group close their composition by proudly declaring in Binukid that they are Tala-Andig?

We witnessed these thirty-two children fiercely and beautifully affirm their pride in an ancient culture of which the world knows nearly nothing. Yes, I was also proud. They honored us by allowing us to offer the music we love as a means to preserve and promote the culture they love. We forged a connection with a culture nearly cut off from the modern world, but their achievement is greater: to welcome with open arms that which is almost entirely alien. They didn't know when to clap in the Dohnanyi Serenade, but boy, did they clap.

At the dinner afterwards, the tears flowed faster than forty hungry people could devour a lechon, or roasted suckling pig. One girl in my group was nearly inconsolable, despite my assurances, that yes, I will miss them, no, I will never forget them, yes, I hope we see each other again. People invented ever more bizarre ways to bid us farewell. Once one kid got the idea to pinch each of us on the nose, they all had to.

We did a pretty good job maintaining the stiff upper lip expected of adults, but my eyes welled up when one girl in my group gave me a card that read, "I cannot give you expensive things, but this is just simple remember." I don't need expensive things. No honor or opportunity in the world could compare to the privilege of receiving that card.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

The kids made it even harder for us today, when we were scheduled to fly back to Manila. Each group sang a goodbye song, some of which they had clearly made up. We almost didn't know what to do with all the emotion in the room, as well over half the children were crying. In America, people just say goodbye, expecting that brief acquaintanceships are the norm. It occurred to me that for many of these children, the idea of a close friend leaving Miarayon, perhaps never to return, is a completely new, and entirely horrible notion.

Many gave us small gifts and homemade cards. Finally, we had to extricate ourselves and fly back to Manila, at which point I would continue to Istanbul for Cultures in Harmony's Project VII, and Andrew, Danielle, Frank, and Jeremiah would return to the U.S.

I type now on a plane bound for Singapore. My environment is clean, antiseptic, hygienic, square. Yet all around me, I see the clouds rolling over the foothills in the late afternoon, protecting their residents from the vicissitudes of the outside world. I feel mud and grass beneath my feet, and pure air entering my lungs. I taste the best carrots I've ever eaten, not the mysterious and suspicious salad the airline actually served me. I hear the powerful blend of the French horn and the agong, that frighteningly loud Tala-Andig percussion instrument. And I hear the delighted laughter of children who have just compared me to Mr. Bean.