Do you remember me having told you from a few issues ago of some very colorful and eccentric personas from my mother’s side of the family?
That they were not only worth marveling about, but definitely worthy of as much respect and admiration? On this issue, allow me to spend some time talking about them.
First, I remember my fierce and disciplinarian Nanay Tacquing, who was secretly a softy to some of her favorite grandchildren. Then there was Lola Besang, who was more of a gung-ho, free spirit who took my older siblings to adventures they wouldn’t have dreamed of doing themselves. I swear she could be the modern-day Lara Croft.
There’s also my Lola Lulay, the super chef, who would dare serve you a sumptuous meal of undetermined, and sometimes questionable, origin and yet you would think it was caviar you were eating. Anthony Bordain would have never stood a chance!
And the grandest of them all – my Tiyoy Otay, to whom everyone would go to when someone becomes feverish for no apparent reason, or when one sprains an ankle or something. You’d probably think he went to medical school or, at the very least, was versed in medicine, but such was not the case. No one knew exactly why he was able to heal or where he got the ability to make people well. To anyone and everyone who asked him those questions, he would always stoically answer that he himself does not know and that it just happened.
Back in the 40s or 50s, there were no such things as medical missions. Even though there were doctors around, they could not be found in small communities or barangays.
So, people would traditionally go to a “manghihilot”, a “manggagamot”, or call on someone who has experience in delivering a baby. My big sister herself was birthed at home by someone who was not a licensed midwife.
During those times (and maybe even now in secluded barrios), as kids, we were fed stories about supernatural beings with superpowers who supposedly co-existed with humans. Your lolo and lola would regale you with tales of the enchanted “tamawo”, scare you with a gigantic “kapre”, or even with a sinister “aswang” story. Does anyone here remember the infamous Tinyente Gimo?
How about those mommies, who insist on having their babies wear those red and black beaded eye bracelets, or pin a small piece of ginger on their babies’ clothing? There too were stories about people, who were given “anting-antings” or who, they claimed, were granted the power to heal as long as it was used peaceably or for humanitarian reasons?
My thought now is that those stories were all mere superstitions that our elders used to ensure that we kept to our best behavior. But then, how do you explain someone like Tiyoy Otay?
From what little I know about him, Tiyoy Otay was someone as non-descript as just anyone you see in the street. He barely spoke and yet, when he does, everyone listened to his low, subtly compelling voice. I remember being told at one time that my big sis fell from a flight of stairs while visiting with a relative and could hardly move her right shoulder without screaming in pain. In panic and desperation, my Papa brought her to Tiyoy Otay who, with his warm, healing hands, was able to re-align and restore her dislocated shoulder. My sister got a slight scolding from him but that was all. She was not even scared of him.
In time, Tiyoy Otay became a known name in their community. It was not easy to find him as he lived far from my Nanay Tacquing’s house – two communities away, in fact, and you’d have to cross a small bridge over a river. Yet, people would come to consult with him about their health issues, heck, even their love problems. His “clinic” would always smell of dried herbs (but what were those black candles and those whatsamathings in bottles doing there?)
Did he perhaps prepare love potions for those who asked for it or engage secretly in magic rituals to stop someone from doing evil things? His sisters would vehemently deny this to the end. (And so would I because a black sheep in one’s bloodlines would not look so cool at all.) Besides, we never heard of anyone ever disparaging him.
People would always say he was a good manggagamot, who had dedicated his gift to helping people, and not to destroy them. In short, Tiyoy Otay was a modern-day Wiccan.
Unfortunately, modernization would eventually change all that. Cities would rise from small communities, with health centers being established, and access to doctors, nurses, and midwives made easier. What happened to people like my Tiyoy Otay?
Well, he decided to close shop and chose to retire in peace, content in knowing that people who would ordinarily flock to him would now be cared for by the government. He believed his services would no longer be needed. But some people in his community would always look to him as God’s gift to them and would continue to run to him for help and comfort.
It had been some time since my Tiyoy Otay passed on. But there are still people who continue to look up to him. I guess good deeds are never forgotten nor are they overlooked. So thank you, my dear Tiyoy Otay. When the time comes, may you be judged for your good deeds by He, who is everything. You have done extremely well.
And we are proud of you. – NWI
