In 1988, I traveled to the United States for the first time after qualifying as one of the five members of the Rotary Foundation’s Group Study Exchange Team representing Rotary International District 3850. It was a life-changing experience that brought me to 16 different American homes, where I lived with families, shared meals, learned their customs, and witnessed firsthand their values and aspirations.
I spoke before more than 20 Rotary Clubs across Montana and visited museums, orphanages, Yellowstone National Park, the Custer Battlefield, dams, lakes, and numerous historic and cultural landmarks.
One particular encounter remains vivid in my memory. During an open forum, a Rotarian recounted his experience as a former Peace Corps volunteer assigned to a rural community in Negros Occidental.
With genuine amazement, he said that “Negrenses eat weeds.” He did not mean this unkindly—rather, he was fascinated by how people here consumed plants he had always considered useless or unwanted.
What he saw as weeds are, in fact, what we proudly known as ‘duna nga utanon’ – IVs, or indigenous vegetables, that grow freely in our rice fields, sugarcane plantations, backyards, riverbanks, and vacant lots.
To him, eating these plants was a sign of ingenuity. To us, they are symbols of resilience, ecological wisdom, and cultural continuity.
Long before nutrition science and food pyramids existed, our ancestors already knew which leaves healed, which strengthened the body, and which sustained families in times of scarcity.
These so-called “weeds” were part of everyday survival. They were gathered after a day in the fields, cooked with fish, ginamos, or coconut milk, and shared around the family table.
They were not exotic; they were ordinary. Yet in their ordinariness lay extraordinary value.
To outsiders, Filipinos may seem fond of eating weeds. To us, these are not weeds at all but time-tested food sources deeply rooted in our history.
Tangkong, alugbati, tugabang, kulitis, alum-alum, apat-apat, amargoso leaves and fruit, alusiman, sigay-sigay, okra, balunggay, dahon kag unod sang kamote, katumbal, ugbos kag prutas sang kalabasa, rabanos, paklang, takway, kag unod sang gabi, balatong, lupo, sitao, batao, patani, kadyos, amargoso, mustasa, kalubay, patola, balagay, kapayas, puso, tambo, ubad, kolo, kag kadupdop — these names may sound unfamiliar to some, but to rural families they are as common as rice.
These plants thrive with little care, no chemicals, and minimal water. They grow where they are not planted, asking nothing in return except to be harvested. That is why they have always been reliable, especially for low-income households.
When money is scarce and markets are far, these vegetables are near. When storms destroy crops, these plants often survive. In times of crisis, they become lifelines.
Are they nutritious? Very much so. Many indigenous vegetables are richer in vitamins and minerals than commercial varieties.
Balunggay is loaded with calcium, iron, and vitamin A. Tugabang and alugbati are excellent for digestion and high in antioxidants. Kulitis is known for its blood-cleansing properties, while alusiman and sigay-sigay provide essential micronutrients.
Our ancestors did not have nutrition labels, but they had wisdom—and their choices were scientifically sound long before science confirmed them.
Yet, despite their value, these “weeds” are quietly disappearing. Urbanization is replacing gardens with concrete. Chemical farming is killing wild growth.
The preference for imported and hybrid vegetables is pushing indigenous species to the margins. Younger generations, unfamiliar with their names and uses, often walk past them without a second glance. When knowledge fades, the plants soon follow.
Preserving indigenous vegetables is not just about biodiversity; it is about food security, cultural identity, and resilience.
We can start with simple steps: backyard gardening, school gardens that include IVs, and local markets that proudly display them. LGUs and agricultural agencies should integrate indigenous crops into nutrition programs and seed banks.
Teachers, media practitioners, and community leaders must revive traditional knowledge and recipes, making these vegetables “cool” again for the youth.
We should tell our children that these plants are not signs of poverty but of intelligence. That gathering them is not backward but sustainable. That eating them is not a compromise but a choice.
Filipinos do not eat weeds because we are poor. We eat them because we are wise.
To lose these indigenous vegetables would be to lose a part of who we are—and a powerful weapon against hunger, malnutrition, and cultural amnesia.
In celebrating ‘duna nga utanon’, we are not just preserving plants; we are preserving heritage, health, and hope for future generations. | NWI
