PHOTOGRAPHY BY ERIK LACSON
The healer, or mananambal, gently pressed two fingers to my wrist, feeling for my pulse. They felt like tentacles penetrating my skin, touching my veins and arteries.
I recoiled slightly, not sure whether this was the desired affect and looked closely at his fingers to make sure no slight of hand was involved. I half-expected him to pull something from my body, but he simply told me that I had bad air.
I was perching on a wooden chair in a dusky room, the function of which was not immediately clear to my eyes. The floor was scattered with pieces of wood and sawdust chips, and it took some time to locate a weathered pot crusted with the hardened remains of burnt ash and a mix of herbs.
I had already removed my shirt and was bent at the waist when wispy smoke began to float upwards. The healer placed a cloth over my head and repeatedly muttered a single phrase over and over while I was told to take deep breaths. I felt nothing except the sting of the acrid-smelling mixture in my nostrils, but I quelled a pang of cynicism and opened myself up to the possibility that this was doing me a world of natural good.
POPULARITY OF FOLK HEALERS
Folk healing is common across the globe. The Philippines, however, has developed a high profile, in part because the beliefs and practices of the Highland people, who originally resisted Spanish colonization, have survived development and Christianity remarkably well intact.
Modern medical care is beyond the reach of the average islander who subsists on small-scale fishing and farming, which probably explains the healers’ continued relevance and popularity.
But there must be more than economics behind people’s faith in the healer’s power. And there must be a more substantial explanation than Imelda Marcos’s answer in the mid-’80s that there were so many faith healers in the Philippines because “We’re all radioactive!” – at the time, the country had the world’s fourth largest deposits of uranium.
Never afraid to be unconventional herself, the former first lady used to fly a famous Siquijor healer to Manila to treat both her and friends, and there is never a shortage of journalists who descend on San Antonio, the mountain village where most healers have lived, during Holy Week.
Despite the attention, this small, charmingly lethargic island is still relatively untouched by tourism, compared to islands like Boracay and Bohol. Only 45 minutes by ferry from Dumaguete in Negros Oriental in the southern Visayas, it remains mall-free – perhaps the best sign of large-scale development in the islands.
GENERATION TO GENERATION
Originally inspired by the film Man on the Man, a biopic about the life of the American comic Andy Kaufmann who visited the Philippines in the late 1980s seeking treatment for lung cancer, I had come to Siquijor, wanting to witness similarly unbelievable procedures. But I later learned that Kaufmann visited a healer on Luzon and the dramatic “psychic surgery” in which a supposedly diseased object is pulled intact from the body without an incision is not practised in Siquijor.
Compared to what I had seen onscreen and the exotic drama of a Haitian voodoo ceremony, the type of healing practised in Siquijor was more like a check-up at the doctor’s office. And my peaceful experience certainly couldn’t explain why the island has a reputation for black magic.
It is difficult to get an accurate number of people practising some form of faith healing in Siquijor. Most people agree that there is only a small handful and that numbers will continue to decline if the children or grandchildren choose not to learn the art from their elders – it seems there is no apprenticeship outside of the family line. But it is equally difficult to imagine that it may disappear entirely one day.
FINDING THE SOURCE
When I returned to Siquijor this November, I wanted to see the same healer I had visited before. I had forgotten his name, but after describing what he looked like, everyone agreed that I must be referring to Juan Ponce, probably the most well-known of the island’s few mananambals.
On my first trip here, a young woman from San Antonio had accompanied me on the back of my motorcycle along a deeply rutted dirt path until we couldn’t drive anymore and had to walk the rest of the way. This time, the jeepney I was traveling in pulled up along the side of a well-paved road only a short uphill walk to Juan P’s home. More clinical, yes, but it wasn’t the same healer! Still intrigued, I wanted to see this variation on the treatment.
Juan P, who had begun training with his father when he was eight, had taught his own son, now an experienced healer in his own right, at age 54. When I asked Juan P whether there were conditions that he couldn’t treat, he humbly replied that some cancers and very advanced diseases were beyond his capacity.
As if reading my mind, or the fact that he’s been asked the same question hundreds of times before by curious foreigners, he told me love potions were available. I didn’t bite, so he offered small wooden amulets used to ward off evil spirits.
But I had a task in hand: my asthma. In the US where I live, health care can be prohibitively expensive. Grandmotherly advice, mostly directed towards my diet and irregular exercise habits, had done nothing to alleviate my progressively worsening condition. Naturally, I was open to alternative and relatively inexpensive forms of treatment.
SUSPENDING DISBELIEF
After checking my pulse – no alien sensation this time – Juan P pronounced me healthy. But my inhaler was running low and I hadn’t come this far to be turned away – maybe he suspected I had little faith in his methods. So I told him myself what ailed me, and he brought back a bottle that looked like it was filled with jungle scraps after a particularly heavy downpour; the color was an unappetizing brown and it looked to me like there were parts of insects thrown in for good measure.
I was never a very cooperative patient and still need to psych myself up before swallowing even the most child-friendly cough syrup. But I took my unusual medicine and crossed my fingers.
BUBBLE THERAPY
I had another recommendation to check out: Juan Magsalay, the bolo-bolo or bubble man, who at 79 had been practising his “art” for 25 years, ever since he happened upon a small black rock he said was sent to him by Jesus Christ.
“I saw this rock call out to me and immediately knew it could be used to cure people,” he said.
The jeepney ride from San Antonio to the barangay of Sandugan, located on the coastal road east of Siquijor Town, is a trip from the mountainous interior, where it is easy to fuel the imagination about mysterious goings-on in a light-infused ordinary village.
There was no diagnostic exam, either orally or physically, nor prayers or incantations uttered – the only preparation was filling up a clear metal jar with fresh water. Juan M then placed the jar so that it was barely touching my forehead and started to blow through a metal pipe into the water. He slowly moved the bar over the upper part of my body, continuing to blow in the way a mischievous child would in order to create bubbles in his milk. After 30 seconds or so of this, I looked up to see that the water had in fact turned a muddy brown.
“What does the change of color in the water mean?” I asked Juan M. When he told me that it meant he was removing an infection or more generally something “bad”, I wanted to know whether it was something psychological, physical or spiritual.
“These can’t be separated,” he said. Two more passes of the bottle and the blowing followed. It wasn’t until the third time that the water remained crystal clear – meaning I now had a clean bill of health.
There were several photos of foreigners receiving treatment tacked to the wall by his door, no doubt meant as proof of how widely accepted his methods are. Skin ailments seem to be the most common affliction treated by the bolo-bolo, and a friend who lives on the island swears by it.
EERIE EVENTS
Of course, there are healers on other islands throughout the Philippines, but somehow, Siquijor has developed a reputation as the Mecca. I was told several stories by those who were not ready to believe in Siquijor’s magic, but felt that it was impossible to deny the mysteries of the island.
One long-time resident foreigner told me about a well-known mamamarang or sorcerer. “I’ve never experienced a look like that. It completely pierced right through me. When I returned to my country until the day this woman died, I felt an inexplicable need to return to Siquijor,” he said.
There’s the man who can bring dead fish back to life – for around a half hour – and make paper cut-outs dance like they are at a nightclub. It is easy to imagine the thrill of watching this and trying to guess how it is done.
But the true, indisputable beauty of Siquijor lies in its warm people, its beautiful beaches and the deliciously slow pace of island life. Back home in New York City, it was that atmosphere I missed. After all, I still had the bottle of medication in my pocket - though whether it works, I’ll leave you to decide.
WHAT TO DO:
Most visitors to the island come for pleasures like scuba-diving, sunbathing and a chance to experience the slow pace of island life. Siquijor has a few highly regarded dive sites, and there are several shops on the island that supply all the necessary gear.
The Cantabon Caves just outside of San Antonio are definitely worth a visit for a thrilling hike, climb and swim through its underground river. Cambughay Falls near the southern town of Lazi is also a lovely place to cool off. Mount Bandilaan (557m), the highest point on the island, is home to a huge variety of species of butterflies; there are over 100 on the island.
HOW TO GET THERE:
The most convenient way to get to Siquijor is to fly Cebu Pacific Air from Manila to Dumaguete. From here, there are several ferry trips a day on Delta Fast Ferries (tel (0)35 420-0888) and Ocean Jet (tel (0)35 226-1085).
Express boats take only 45 minutes and cost PHP120. Weesam Express (tel (0)35 422-7918) has a daily boat that leaves Cebu at 6am, stopping in Tagbilaran and Dumaguete.
There are also ferry connections to/from Iligan and Plaridel on Mindanao.
WHERE TO STAY:
Coco Grove Beach Resort (tel (0)35 481-5008, email cocogrov@glinesnx.com.ph) near the village of San Juan on the western side of the island is a wonderful gem of a place. Every villa scattered around the meticulously landscaped grounds is a model of low-key luxury.
There’s a sophisticated beachside restaurant, two pools, and a dive shop on the premises. Almost as remarkable as the sheer physical beauty of the property is the friendly and professional service.
Coral Cay Beach Resort is another top-end choice, and there are several more modest places scattered around the island.
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