SAMAON SULAIMAN 

(+ 2011)
Musician
Magindanao
Mama sa Pano, Maguindanao
1993

The Magindanaon, who are among the largest of Filipino Islamic groups, are concentrated in the
towns of Dinaig, Datu Piang, Maganoy and Buluan in Magindanao province. Highly
sophisticated in weaving, okir designs, jewelry, metalwork and brassware, their art is Southeast
Asian yet distinct in character.

In the field of music, the Magindanaon has few peers among Filipino cultural communities.
Their masters on the kulintang (gong-chime) and kutyapi (two-stringed plucked lute) are
comparable to any instrumental virtuoso in the East or West.

The kutyapi is a favorite solo instrument among both Muslim and non-Muslim Filipinos and is
also played in combination with other instruments. It exists in a great variety of designs, shapes,
and sizes and known by such names as kotapi (Subanon), fegereng (Tiruray), faglong (B’laan),
hegelong (T’boli) and kuglong or kudlong (Manobo).
The Magindanao kutyapi is one of the most technically demanding and difficult to master among
Filipino traditional instruments, which is one reason why the younger generation is not too keen
to learn it. Of its two strings, one provides the rhythmic drone, while the other has movable frets
that allow melodies to be played in two sets of pentatonic scales, one containing semitones, the
other containing none.

Magindanao kutyapi music is rich in melodic and rhythmic invention, explores a wide range of
timbres and sound phenomena – both human and natural, possesses a subtle and variable tuning
system, and is deeply poetic in inspiration.

Though it is the kulintang that is most popular among the Magindanaon, it is the kutyapi that
captivates with its intimate, meditative, almost mystical charm. It retains a delicate, quiet temper
even at its most celebrative and ebullient mood.

Samaon Sulaiman achieved the highest level of excellence in the art of kutyapi playing. His
extensive repertoire of dinaladay, linapu, minuna, binalig, and other forms and styles interpreted
with refinement and sensitivity fully demonstrate and creative and expressive possibilities of his
instrument.

Learning to play the kutyapi from his uncle when he was about 13 years old, he has since, at 35
become the most acclaimed kutyapi master and teacher of his instrument in Libutan and other
barangays of Maganoy town, deeply influencing the other acknowledged experts in kutyapi in
the area, such as Esmael Ahmad, Bitul Sulaiman, Nguda Latip, Ali Ahmad and Tukal Nanalon.

Aside from kutyapi, Samaon is also proficient in kulintang, Agong (suspended bossed gong with
wide rim), gandingan (bossed gong with narrow rim), palendag (lip-valley flute), and tambul.

Samaon was a popular barber in his community and serve as an Imam in the Libutan mosque.

For his exemplary artistry and dedication to his chosen instrument, for his unwavering
commitment to the music of the kutyapi at a time when this instrument no longer exists in many
parts of Mindanao, Samaon Sulaiman is worthy of emulation and the highest honors. (Prof.
Felipe M. de Leon, Jrinstrum
UWANG AHADAS
Musician
Yakan
Lamitan, Basilan
2000

Much mystery surrounds life. And when confronted with such, it is but natural to attempt some
form of hypothesizing. In the days when hard science was nonexistent, people sought to explain
away many of these enigmas by attributing them to the work of the gods or the spirits. In this
way, rain and thunder became the lamentations of a deity abandoned by his capricious wife, and
night and day, the compromise reached by a brother and sister who both wanted to rule the world
upon the death of their father.

Many of these heavenly beings hold sway over the earth and all that dwell within its bounds. In
the folklore of a northern people, a story explains why, in the three-kilometer stretch of the
highest peak of Binaratan, a mountain in the region, there is a silence so complete it borders on
the eerie. Legend has it that the great Kaboniyan went hunting with some men to teach them how
to train and use hounds. When they reached the peak of Binaratan, however, they could no
longer hear their hounds as the song of the birds drowned their barking. One of the hunters
begged Kaboniyan to stop the birds’ singing, lest the hunt fail and they return home empty-
handed. So Kaboniyan commanded the creatures of Binaratan to be silent in a voice so loud and
frightful that they kept their peace in fear. Since then, a strange unbroken silence reigns at the top
of the mountain, in spite of the multitudes of birds that flit from tree to tree.

And because they belong to this sphere, it is believed that mortal men are as vulnerable to the
powers and the whims of these gods and spirits as the beasts that roam the land and the birds that
sail the sky. Though they are hidden behind dark glasses, the eyes of Uwang Ahadas speak of
such a tale, one that came to pass more than half a century before. They tell story of a young boy
who unknowingly incurred the ire of the nature spirits through his childish play. The people of
his community believe Uwang’s near-blindness is a form of retribution from the nature spirits
that dwelled in Bohe Libaken, a brook near the place where he was born and where, as a child,
he often bathed. His father, Imam Ahadas, recalls that the five-year-old Uwang quietly endured
the pain in his eyes, waiting out a month before finally telling his parents.

Music was to become his constant companion. Uwang Ahadas is a Yakan, a people to whom
instrumental music is of much significance, connected as it is with both the agricultural cycle and
the social realm. One old agricultural tradition involves the kwintangan kayu, an instrument
consisting of five wooden logs hung horizontally, from the shortest to the longest, with the
shortest being nearest the ground. After the planting of the rice, an unroofed platform is built
high in the branches of a tree. Then the kwintangan kayu is played to serenade the palay, as a
lover woos his beloved. Its resonance is believed to gently caress the plants, rousing them from
their deep sleep, encouraging them to grow and yield more fruit.

With this heritage, as rich as it is steeped in music, it is no wonder that even as a young child,
Uwang joyously embraced the demands and the discipline necessitated by his art. His training
began with the ardent observation of the older, more knowledgeable players in his community.
His own family, gifted with a strong tradition in music, complemented the instruction he
received. He and his siblings were all encouraged to learn how to play the different Yakan
instruments, as these were part of the legacy of his ancestors. Not all Yakan children have such
privilege. Maintaining the instruments is very expensive work and sadly, there is always the
temptation presented by antique dealers and other collectors who rarely, if at all, appreciate the
history embodied in these artifacts.

From the gabbang, a bamboo xylophone, his skills gradually allowed him to progress to the
agung, the kwintangan kayu, and later the other instruments. Even musical tradition failed to be a
deterrent to his will. Or perhaps it only served to fuel his determination to demonstrate his gift.
Yakan tradition sets the kwintangan as a woman’s instrument and the agung, a man’s. His genius
and his resolve, however, broke through this tradition. By the age of twenty, he had mastered the
most important of the Yakan musical instruments, the kwintangan among them.

Uwang, however, is not content with merely his own expertise. He dreams that many more of his
people will discover and study his art. With missionary fervor, he strives to pass on his
knowledge to others. His own experience serves as a guide. He believes it is best for children to
commence training young, when interest is at its peak and flexibility of the hands and the wrists
is assured. His own children were the first to benefit from his instruction. One of his daughters,
Darna, has become quite proficient in the art that like her father, she too has begun to train
others.

His purpose carries him beyond the borders of Lamitan to the other towns of Basilan where
Uwang always finds a warm welcome from students, young and old, who eagerly await his
coming. His many travels have blessed him with close and enduring ties with these people. Many
of his onetime apprentices have come into their own have gained individual renown in the Yakan
community. He declares, with great pride, that they are frequently invited to perform during the
many rituals and festivals that mark the community calendar.

Similar to his mentors before him, Uwang’s teaching style is essentially hands-on. He teaches by
showing; his students learn by doing. His hands constantly keep a firm hold on those of his
students, the gentle pressure encouraging them to tap out music from the silent bamboo blades
and the splendid brass gongs. His soft voice sings praises when merited and lightly censures
when necessary. And each student receives his full attention while the others persevere in
learning and perfecting the art.

His younger brother, Rohas, worries about how best to preserve his techniques so that they can
be passed on to others even after he is gone. For his part, he has started documenting his
brother’s instruction, creating a notation system that will simplify instruction. Already he has
begun using this method for training students and declares that it shows promise. However, this
is only the beginning and much work is still called for if the hills of Basilan are to continue to
resound with ancestral music.
Foremost among these is to give Uwang back the kind of mobility that will permit him to
continue his mission to educate. He admits his dimmed eyesight makes him slightly wary of
travel, as it would compel him to be constantly dependent on others. Of late, he has found it
more difficult to walk, particularly when it is extremely bright and even his dark glasses afford
little protection. To a man of his stature, this admission is certainly one that is very difficult to
make.

Yet when asked how he felt about treatment to correct his condition, he smiles and nods his
head. With possibly the same tranquility with which he faced up to both his fate and his people’s
tradition, he expresses a willingness to endure whatever is necessary. And strangely, even
through his dark glasses, one can almost imagine seeing a not-so-faint glimmer in his eyes.
(Salve de la Paz).

ALONZO SACLAG
Musician and Dancer, Kalinga
Lubuagan, Kalinga
2000

History, they say, is always written from the perspective of the dominant class. It is not as
objective an account as we were led to believe when, as elementary schoolchildren, we were
made to memorize the details of the lives of Jose Rizal and the other notable ilustrados. History
is about as impartial as the editorials we eagerly devour today, the ones that extol and chastise
the exploits and the foibles of government, but with a distinct advantage: by virtue of its form, it
takes on an aura of authority. And this authority is one ordinary schoolchildren and adults alike
are hardly likely to challenge.

Seemingly maligned by both history and popular media are the people of the Kalinga. Even in
the earliest Spanish Chronicles, they were depicted as so hostile that Dominican missionaries
were forced to abandon their plans to build Christian missions in the area. Their more recent
battle against the Marcos administration’s plans to build a series of hydroelectric dams along the
Chico River only added to their notoriety. The very name they have taken on was a label tagged
on to them by the neighboring Ibanag and Gaddang. It meant “enemy” – a throwback, no doubt,
to the days when head taking was a common and noble practice, intended not only to
demonstrate bravery but, more importantly, to safeguard lives and property.

Such was the emphasis placed on the fierceness of the Kalinga that, except for scholars,
researchers, and cultural workers, very few know about their rich culture and heritage. Which is
why the efforts of Alonzo Saclag, declared Manlilikha ng Bayan for 2000, become all the more
significant. A Kalinga master of dance and the performing arts, he has made it his mission to
create and nurture a greater consciousness and appreciation of Kalinga culture, among the
Kalinga themselves and beyond their borders.

As a young boy in Lubuagan, Kalinga, Alonzo Saclag found endless fascination in the sights and
sounds of day-to-day village life and ritual. According to his son, Robinson, he received no
instruction, formal or otherwise, in the performing arts. Yet he has mastered not only the Kalinga
musical instruments but also the dance patterns and movements associated with his people’s
rituals. His tool was observation, his teacher, experience. Coupled with these was a keen interest
in – a passion, if you would – the culture that was his inheritance.

This passion he clearly intends to pass on to the other members of his community, particularly to
the younger generation which, he notes, needs to understand and value the nuances of their
traditional laws and beliefs. Although Kalinga life and culture have remained generally
unchanged partly due to their relative isolation, he observes that some of them are tempted by the
illusion of city life. He actively advocates the documentation of their philosophies before they
become completely eroded by foreign influences – whether cultural, political, or economic – and
are completely forgotten by his people.

He cites as an example the budong or the peace-pact, an established remedy for the tribal wars
that continue to rack their region. He notes sadly that some fail to grasp the true meaning of the
pact and the lives that are lost in a tribal war. These he sees as akin to a sacrifice made to keep
the peace intact. His attitude towards the present-day institution is one of uncertainty. His
disillusionment stems from bitter experience. Notwithstanding the many tribal wars and peace-
pacts he and his people have fought and sworn to, lasting peace stays elusive.

Much of his energy is channeled towards different preservation efforts. He has for years urged
the members of his community to preserve their artifacts and archaeological sites. While the
unwritten laws and epics chronicle their victories as a people, their artifacts afford us a glimpse
into their day-to-day existence. One such artifact is the Kalinga gong or the gangsa, the making
of which is a disappearing trade. He has endeavored to revive this dying craft. And to hold these
and other treasures, he lobbied for two years with the provincial government to grant funds to
convert the abandoned Capitol Building into a museum. His persistence was finally rewarded
when, with support from the provincial government and other patrons, the Lubuagan branch of
the National Museum was established.

His campaigns have brought him to schools where he discusses various issues with
administrators. One striking result of these efforts is the children’s practice of donning the
Kalinga costume for important school events such as graduation and First Communion. To
celebrate indigenous values, he puts up skits and other creative presentations in various schools.
At his cue, the mountains seem to resound as elementary schoolchildren learn the folk songs
their parents and grandparents once sang. He has even argued for the broadcast of traditional
Kalinga music alongside contemporary music in the local radio station.

To guarantee that his knowledge in the performing arts is passed on to others, he formed the
Kalinga Budong Dance Troupe. He takes the young men and women who come to him under his
charge and they learn about the music and dance of their ancestors. While many have expressed
a genuine desire to represent and promote Kalinga performing arts, he admits that a handful have
other, more personal, motives. Because the troupe occasionally goes on tour, joining it is
perceived by some as a chance to see places other than mountains they call home. Who can resist
the lure of foreign places, he concedes.

His own wife and children have joined him in his travels and performances, and though they
match his commitment and his dedication, he acknowledges, with a playful grin, that his nine
children have yet to equal his graceful movements.

While his young charges dream of visiting other places, he hopes to recreate a Kalinga village
comparable to those he remembers from his youth. In it, he hopes to build a traditional structure
that will house the art and artifacts of his people, a showcase of Kalinga artistry and genius and a
source of pride for his community. He remembers with fondness the Kalinga House in the
grounds of the Expo Filipino in Pampanga. Cool even in the midday heat, he says it served as a
retreat not only for the Kalinga participants but also for some of the students who had visited the
Expo.

Already he has purchased a piece of land where his village is to take root. To the people of his
community, he has entrusted the task of planting a shelter of trees and other plants, providing the
seedling himself, just as he did years before to counter the threat of erosion. In this village, he
imagines waking up to a symphony of bird song, a rare occurrence of late yet one he zealously
sought through his call for a prohibition on hunting.

But so far, the village remains a picture that he sees only in his mind’s eye. The house remains a
vision on paper, peopled only by the folk of his imagination. The seedlings of wild fruit trees fill
his house, like sentinels, waiting to be transplanted. One, in fact, has already begun to flower and
bear fruit, proof of the long wait he has had to endure.

Waiting, however, is a small difficulty. The greater obstacle appears to be gaining the support of
those who continue to question and challenge his motives. One would think that with such a
noble purpose, one would have no trouble finding allies, not the least among the Kalinga
themselves. Reality, though, suggests the contrary.

But Alonzo Saclag remains unfazed. With characteristic generosity, he does not, for instance,
begrudge nor fear the efforts others take to put up a group similar to his much-celebrated Kalinga
Budong Dance Troupe. Moreover, he welcomes the idea of collaborating with them, should the
opportunity present itself.
In the meantime, he perseveres in his work, braving long hours of travel even in the face of a
tribal war. His wife, Rebecca, who faithfully follows him wherever his travels take him, says this
is his mission: to continue to nurture and uphold the Kalinga culture, the birthright of his
children. (Salve de la Paz)

MASINO INTARAY (+ 2013)

Living in the highlands of southern Palawan are the Palawan people, who, together with the
Batak and Tagbanwa, are the major indigenous cultural communities of Palawan.

The Palawan possess a rich, intense yet highly refined culture encompassing both the visible and
invisible worlds. They may not exhibit the ornate splendor of the Maranaw nor the striking
elegance of the Yakan, but their elaborate conemology, extensive poetic and literary traditions,
multi-level architecture, musical concepts, social ethic and rituals reveal a deeply spiritual
sensibility and subtle inner life of a people attuned to the myriad energies and forms of luxurious
mountain universe that is their abode, a forest environment of great trees, countless species of
plants and animals, and a magnificent firmament.
The Palawan have no notion of property. To them, the earth, sea, sky and nature’s elements
belong to no one. Their basic social ethic is one sharing. Their most important rituals such as the
tambilaw and the tinapay are forms of vast and lavish sharing, particularly of food and drinks,
skills and ideas.

The tambilaw is a collective cooking and sharing of rice which is a ritual offering to the Lord of
Rice, Ampo’t Paray, while the tinapay is the rice wine drinking ceremony. It is during such
occasions that the basal, or gong music ensemble, plays a vital role in the life of the community.
For it is the music of the basal that collectively and spiritually connects the Palawan with the
Great Lord, Ampo and the Master Rice, Ampo’t Paray. The basal enlivens the night long fast of
the drinking of the rice wine, bringing together about one hundred guests under the roof of the
kolon banwa (big house).

The gimbal (tubular drum) begins the music with a basic rhythm, then enter the sanang ( pair of
small gongs with boss and narrow rims) and one to three agungs (gongs with high bossed and
wide turned – in rims).

Basal ensemble playing is an accurate and wonderful metaphor for the basic custom of sharing
among the Palawan . For in this music no one instrument predominates. The techniques of
interlocking, counterpoint, alternation and colotomy ensure a collective oneness. The two sanang
play in alternative dynamics. When one plays loudly, the other plays softly. Contrapuntal
patterns govern the interaction of the agung with the sanang and gimbal. It is the music of
“punctuation, rhythm and color rather than melody”. Its very essence is creative cooperation and
togetherness.

A non-musical instrumental element of the basal are the young women’s rapid stamping rhythm
of their foot as they move back and forth on the bamboo slatted floor of the kolon banwa,
carrying taro leaves on both hands at their sides. This percussion dance is called tarak.

Further highlighting the intensely poetic and subtle harmony of human beings with each other
and with nature among the palawan are the kulilal and bagit traditions. The kulilal is a highly
lyrical poem expressing passionate love sang with the accompaniment of the kusyapi (two-
stringed lute), played by a man, and pagang (bamboo zither), played by a woman. The bagit, also
played on the kusyapi, is strictly instrumental music depicting the rhythms, movements and
sounds of nature, birds, monkeys, snakes, chirping of insects, rustling of leaves, the elements and
the like.

An outstanding master of the basal, kulilal and bagit is Masino, a gifted poet, bard artist, and
musician who was born near the head of the river in Makagwa valley on the foothill of
Mantalingayan mountain. Masino is not only well-versed in the instruments and traditions of the
basal, kulilal and bagit but also plays the aroding (mouth harp) and babarak (ring flute) and
above all is a prolific and pre-eminent epic chanter and story teller.

He has the creative memory, endurance, clarity of intellect and spiritual purpose that enable him
to chant all through the night, for successive nights, countless tultul (epics), sudsungit
(narratives), and tuturan (myths of origin and teachings of ancestors).

Masino and the basal and kulilal ensemble of Makagwa valley are creative, traditional artists of
the highest order of merit. (Prof. Felipe M. de Leon, Jr.)