Traditional oven may be history
In several photo-opts at the Man-Amko Center in Garapan, I’d walk to the back of the facility to admire the traditional oven that was built for use by our senior citizens. Perhaps, the old folks prefer traditional method of baking bread and pastries over the more modern electric stove in the kitchen. As I studied its use, font memories of my late Auntie Kita’s traditional stove took me on a quick trip back in time.
In the old village, it’s easy to sense that something big was coming when young men started dumping loads of tañgantañgan near the traditional oven. This is followed by a group of women who would come to help mix flour into bread and pastries. There’s the festive mood of, i.e., an impending fandañgo. I usually use this occasion to play ball at the school ground.
I sometime dread those days when the traditional oven turns into a beehive of activity. My late mom would hand over cooking, washing, cleaning and other chores normally done by young girls. I even learned how to sew on the old Singer machine. I’d sit there for hours mending ripped trousers and shirts. Then there’s shower and dinner for the entire battalion and the final dish washing for the day.
By 4-5 p.m. in the afternoon, the aroma of freshly baked local bread fills the entire neighborhood. I’d work up an excuse to see mom at my auntie’s small bakery house and take my time until someone offers me a bread or two. For someone who’s usually hungry, hey I’d also find excuses for coffee and milk from the old ladies helping Auntie Kita. I must admit, bread and pastries then somehow tasted better than what’s available today.
If anything, the traditional oven became a showcase of our sense of community. As pastry-making ends, the community meets around early evening to assist in the preparation of palapalas, animal slaughtering and butchering, wood gathering, etc. After that day’s done, a big dinner is served for the helpers before returning home.
It’s during break or dinner time that I open my ears to stories of the olden days.
Then there’s the fishing trip involving seasoned traditional fishermen. Yeah, I’d wait for these guys along the beach just to help scale and clean fish. It’s a sure ticket to a full stomach before calling it a day. It’s also the time to learn how to peel banana, taro, tapioca, breadfruit, yams, and sweet potatoes. And while at it, the younger guys grate coconut by the 50 pound sack. It’s a tiring chore and so we take turns both husking and grating coconuts.
I definitely miss those days when the old folks and their siblings (Chamorros and Carolinians) really had a sense of community. As new homestead subdivisions opened over the last 20 years, the outmigration of people from the old village gave birth to a new set of values often riddled with indifference. It’s troubling though perhaps this is the price of change. Is it, really?
In recent years I stopped by my late auntie’s CK residence. The old house is no longer there nor the traditional oven that once held LaLi Fo` together as a community. It’s all a part of those treasured days as a young boy in the old village.
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Our lifestyle has changed so drastically since the sixties. But as we move forward, other social problems emerge that are mind-numbing at best. Perhaps this is one reason that new parents now claim that parenting isn’t the same as owning a car that has manuals to follow. Yes, indeed, the competition for attention among modern day influences is more than most of us could handle with a sense of confidence. And though we’d have our own cuts and bruises, hang in there and simply tough it out in the best way you know how.
