I was browsing through old files when I came across a Word document entitled "Idja-idja. Aho-aho." It is a Bol-anon term which means "What's yours is yours; and what's mine is mine." Boholanos usually swap the letter /y/ with the /dj/ sound.
It was a text of a Mindanews article I copied-saved way way back. I saved it for a handful of reasons: it struck a chord in me; I was afraid (that early) that I will not be able to find it later on the net; a low-tech retrieval system should come in handy. Making backups sort of became second nature to me after experiencing an office fire that erased my efforts and that of my colleagues in a matter of minutes.
It was a good idea that I saved it, because I could no longer find it on the Mindanews website.
The article struck a chord because as a child, we were taught not to ask. (Dili mangayo). 'Taught' is even an understatement because I learned mine the hard way:
I must have been six that time, and there was this pretty college student who frequented our house as we lived next to one of the colleges in a university town. I even remember her full name, but let us just call her Priscilla (or was it Placida?). Anyway.
Priscilla had a red circular plastic wallet that was en vogue and I was fascinated by it. It was closed and opened with a zipper that had a key chain at the end. Flowers were printed on one side with an animal figure which seemed like Hello Kitty long before Hello Kitty was born. I don't have a picture so I hope those who are my age can recall what it looked like. (I found similar pictures on the net though).
She asked me if I wanted one and I gleefully answered "Yes!" She said she will bring one when she comes back.
I totally had it off my mind until one day Priscilla came back. I was in the yard playing with neighborhood pals and she called me. She dangled a pink plastic wallet and there I was, my face and feet smeared with sweat and dust, smiling ear to ear at the sight of the treasure.
Nanay arrived from work (it was noontime); and asked what I was holding.
"Imo nang gipangayo? (Did you ask for that?)" she asked sternly.
"O Nay," was all I could muster.
"Iuli (Return it)."
"Kaluoy pud sa bata oi. Ako man nang gihatag, Maam," Priscilla was pleading.
But Nanay would not hear anything of it.
Gingging, our maid (that was how househelp were called that time) was looking at me with eyes saying, "Do it now or you will be spanked."
No questions asked, I gave back the wallet to Priscilla who I know was as heartbroken as I was confused.
Lola who was nearby heard the conversation and joined our little crowd.
"Iuli." She also told me.
Imagine three women who loomed large and powerful to a little girl who still had to sift the value from such an exchange.
A sermon followed, details of which I could no longer recall. All is left was a red flag for me through the years saying: "Ayaw pangayo." Literally "Don't Ask"; and figuratively "Work for what you want."
That was the atmosphere that we were brought up. We did not know the word "pasalubong" or it's Cebuano equivalent. All I knew was we were always told, "paghuwat" (wait). Rushing to meet our elders was for us to kiss their hands and we were back immediately to what we were doing, say, playing. Only when we were called that we know there was something for us - Serg's was truly special. And it was not often.
When someone arrives from travel it was considered bad manners to mill around and ask for gifts. And when someone had bad manners, it was expected that s/he got a whack instead of a treat.
Accepting food from strangers was a big no-no, too! It was either naa'y lumay (prepared with a potion or a charm); or anything that you eat coming from other people would make you beholden to them. Beholden meaning you will follow everything they tell you to do.
Now back to Idja-idja Aho-aho. The Bol-anon language is said to use the /dj/ sound for syllables using y; and /h/ for syllables using k. For example: Iya (his or hers) becomes idja; and ako (mine) becomes aho. Generally, idja-idja, aho-aho means: What is his is his; and what is mine is mine. Further, it means that every one must fend for himself; must be responsible for himself; self-reliant and not dependent on others.
[As a side note, a friend illustrates the /dj/ sound through a curse: "Pisti kang dyawaa ka madjatakan unta ka'g kabadjong puti'g tidjan". Roughly translated to "May a horse with a white belly step on you."]
I recall that in Lola's memoirs, she wrote that her mother kept pesetas (coins) inside buyots (in tagalog bayong, or baskets made of buri palm leaves). Francisca Biasong was from Bohol; but it is not clear to me whether that makes her a Bol-anon or a Sugbuanon who migrated to Bohol and lived there. That's okay. Lola's father Juan Sapitula was from La Union; and she was born in Balamban, Cebu.
Finally, here's the article that I found (Dated Jul 28, 2009)
* * * * *
MINDAVIEWS
CHILD OF THE SUN: Idja-idja, aho-aho!
by Ting Tiongco/MindaNews
(Speech of acceptance as one of the Ten Outstanding Boholano Award (Tobaw) delivered at the Tapok Bol-anon Tibuok Kalibutan awarding ceremonies on 25 July).
TAGBILARAN, Bohol (MindaNews/26 July) -- I accept this award both with great pride and humility. I dedicate this award to my late parents who came from Bohol; my father from Bilar, and my mother, a Manigque from Tagbilaran. My mother, who died a few months ago, lived 63 out of her 86 years in Mindanao. But she died a true Boholana, speaking Binol-anon to the end.
I was not born in Bohol. Neither did I grow up here. My parents made it clear to their children who were growing up in Mindanao that we are Bol-anons. Ang Bolanon, murag Amerkano. Maskin asa ka ma tawo, basta Amerkano ang imong tatay o nanay, Amerkano ka lang guihapon. Ang Bol-anon, mao sad. Maskin asa ka matawo, basta Bol-anon ang imong kaguikan, Bol-anon ka lang guihapon. Mailhan man gud ang Bol-anon sa uban, kay tag-as man ug ilong.
CHILD OF THE SUN: Idja-idja, aho-aho!
by Ting Tiongco/MindaNews
(Speech of acceptance as one of the Ten Outstanding Boholano Award (Tobaw) delivered at the Tapok Bol-anon Tibuok Kalibutan awarding ceremonies on 25 July).
TAGBILARAN, Bohol (MindaNews/26 July) -- I accept this award both with great pride and humility. I dedicate this award to my late parents who came from Bohol; my father from Bilar, and my mother, a Manigque from Tagbilaran. My mother, who died a few months ago, lived 63 out of her 86 years in Mindanao. But she died a true Boholana, speaking Binol-anon to the end.
I was not born in Bohol. Neither did I grow up here. My parents made it clear to their children who were growing up in Mindanao that we are Bol-anons. Ang Bolanon, murag Amerkano. Maskin asa ka ma tawo, basta Amerkano ang imong tatay o nanay, Amerkano ka lang guihapon. Ang Bol-anon, mao sad. Maskin asa ka matawo, basta Bol-anon ang imong kaguikan, Bol-anon ka lang guihapon. Mailhan man gud ang Bol-anon sa uban, kay tag-as man ug ilong.
I was often
puzzled, growing up as Bol-anon in Davao where a welter of cultures
flourish; the moment my companions knew I was Bol-anon, I was immediately set
apart as different from the rest. I was puzzled by the saying ‘ idja-idja,
aho-aho!’ often said in jest by classmates. And this was usually followed by
the declaration that Bohol was ‘outside da Pilipins’. Predictably there ensued
a typical schoolboy fistfight. Sinumbagay!
I often asked my mother what all this was about but she only told me to be proud of such things. There was a history and a culture behind this that she did not bother to explain because perhaps she knew that sometime in my life I would realize what it meant.
And indeed, I did. It happened the first time I came to Bohol to set up a health cooperative. I was warned that the Bol-anon attitude of ‘idja-idja aho-aho’ was against the basic principles of cooperativism. But setting up a hospital and health services cooperative in the land of my parents, ang akong yutang guinikanan, was a promise I made my father before he died.
So 15 years ago I landed in Tagbilaran, walked to a restaurant, and unthinkingly ordered more lunch than I could consume. I had the rest packed in a brown paper bag to give to a hungry street child.
Outside, I met a raggedy malnourished little boy and wordlessly handed him the brown paper bag. He looked suspiciously at me and asked what was in it. Learning it was food, he immediately ran away, shrieking ‘Di ko!’ (No!)
I was surprised, a bit disheartened. So I walked to the cathedral where I expected to find beggars. There I found an old woman sitting on the ground by the main door, in the heat of noon, clutching a
rosary. This time I was more circumspect. I explained to her that I had ordered too much for lunch and I was loathe to see so much food wasted and I was wondering if she would accept the rest, assuring her that it was clean. She gladly took the brown paper bag, thanking me profusely. Then, as I was leaving, happy that no food was wasted, she called after me.
‘ Doy,’ ingon siya, ‘ pila man ni?’ (‘Doy,’ she asked, ‘how much is this?’)
I was floored. Only then did I realize what ‘idja-idja, aho-aho’ means.
It means the Bol-anon does not beg!
It means that I belong to a noble culture that believes Man must provide for himself and the community he belongs to. It means that we are free of the humiliating cultural muck of Mendicancy that the rest of our country is drowning in.
It means that we believe in ourselves. In our own capacity to provide for our own needs through our own resources.
Happily, this is what cooperativism is all about. Self-sufficiency and pride in one’s own.
Then this could be very well our battle cry: ‘idja-idja, aho-aho!’.
I often asked my mother what all this was about but she only told me to be proud of such things. There was a history and a culture behind this that she did not bother to explain because perhaps she knew that sometime in my life I would realize what it meant.
And indeed, I did. It happened the first time I came to Bohol to set up a health cooperative. I was warned that the Bol-anon attitude of ‘idja-idja aho-aho’ was against the basic principles of cooperativism. But setting up a hospital and health services cooperative in the land of my parents, ang akong yutang guinikanan, was a promise I made my father before he died.
So 15 years ago I landed in Tagbilaran, walked to a restaurant, and unthinkingly ordered more lunch than I could consume. I had the rest packed in a brown paper bag to give to a hungry street child.
Outside, I met a raggedy malnourished little boy and wordlessly handed him the brown paper bag. He looked suspiciously at me and asked what was in it. Learning it was food, he immediately ran away, shrieking ‘Di ko!’ (No!)
I was surprised, a bit disheartened. So I walked to the cathedral where I expected to find beggars. There I found an old woman sitting on the ground by the main door, in the heat of noon, clutching a
rosary. This time I was more circumspect. I explained to her that I had ordered too much for lunch and I was loathe to see so much food wasted and I was wondering if she would accept the rest, assuring her that it was clean. She gladly took the brown paper bag, thanking me profusely. Then, as I was leaving, happy that no food was wasted, she called after me.
‘ Doy,’ ingon siya, ‘ pila man ni?’ (‘Doy,’ she asked, ‘how much is this?’)
I was floored. Only then did I realize what ‘idja-idja, aho-aho’ means.
It means the Bol-anon does not beg!
It means that I belong to a noble culture that believes Man must provide for himself and the community he belongs to. It means that we are free of the humiliating cultural muck of Mendicancy that the rest of our country is drowning in.
It means that we believe in ourselves. In our own capacity to provide for our own needs through our own resources.
Happily, this is what cooperativism is all about. Self-sufficiency and pride in one’s own.
Then this could be very well our battle cry: ‘idja-idja, aho-aho!’.
With this, from ‘outside da Pilipins’ we may be able to rebuild the Philippines, flattened by financial crises, sucked dry by unscrupulous politicians, debased in its own eyes by cultural pollution and
disoriented by a demented media that foists the ‘Wowowee’ mentality on Filipinos in massive daily noontime doses.
Idja-idja, aho-aho!
Mabuhi ang Bol-anon!
Mabuhi an[g] Filipinas!
* * * * *
Aveen Acuña-Gulo posts herself on Facebook as a Monumental Operations Manager (MOM). She is a Bukidnon-born Cebuano mother of three (3) Maguindanao-Ilonggo-Cotabateño children; who will always be a child at heart even if she is a hundred years old.
She wrote a column “The Voice” for the Mindanao Cross from 1991-2006.
She likes to challenge stereotypes. “Don’t worry about my opinions. It won’t make a dent to the conventional,” she says.
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