The sea is not just a
companion here. It is the master. And yet for the indigenous people of these
islands, the master has been benevolent,
unleashing anger only intermittently through typhoons and cyclones. For
the rest of the time, it has been a benefactor. Yours truly landed in one of
these islands last week, arguably one of the world’s best island destination
hotspots, Boracay and followed the less touristy path of following the drum
beats of the folks whose ancestors were born here, the Ati’s.
According to Joseph Angan, in his seminal essay on the
Ati’s, “Beyond the beach: The untold story of Boracay’s Ati tribe” in the
Kamusta magazine, “Aklan’s Ati-Atihan Festival, celebrated in January,
literally means “to be like the Ati.” Angan then quotes Boracay-based priest Fr
Nonoy Crisostomo, as saying, “this recognition is nominal. ‘Marginalized talaga
sila’ (They really are marginalized).”
All this was learnt later. For that moment, I followed the
sound of the drums. Different from the rest of the music from the resorts and
the clubs and the beach side bands. It came from the middle of the beach
trapped between two little resorts in a blink and you miss straw hut. Entering
the place with loads of curiosity and a bit of trepidation, it was throwback to
an ageless age. Sitting in a group around the floor were a group of Ati’s,
wearing colourful headgear, arms tatooed, wrists full of artefacts and curios,
bangles made from animal skull and bones, one had a “pendant” made of a horn of
some exotic animal, some had pieces of tusk hanging on their necks. Hanging
from the wall was a long wavy “skeleton” of
what seemed like- well it actually was- a crocodile. Every bone and
formation as intact and it was clear that it was skinned with great precision.
It hung in that hut like an expensive chandelier would in the ball room of a
five star hotel.
And there was music in the air. And drums. A group of Ati’s
sat with djembe’s, the goblet drum made by themselves from skins of animals
found on the island and made pure sounds as they drummed in unison. Between
them sat a foreigner who later turned out to be wandering minstrel from
Leicester in England now settled in France. This chap has been coming to
Boracay for the past four years to meet the last of the dwindling Ati’s of the
island, one of whom happened to own and run the place where we were now
sitting. The owner Saudi and the man from Leicester are dear friends with the
foreigner a guest in the Ati’s modest home. A small group of wandering tourists
had dropped in. One djembe was handed over to yours truly which added to a bit
of cacophony in the otherwise rhythmic surroundings. But the Ati’s still
clapped politely, and handed beer served in plastic cups and coconut shells.
The singing then started and took on a global merry mix with the lad from Milan
singing some Italian, me a croaky rabindra sangeet in Bengali, and then others
sang some old faithfuls like the Beatles and topped by a tribal rendition by
one of the women.
Even in the middle of a seven kilometre long and 1 kilometre
wide island, a dot in the Pacific, there’s place for the world of hearts to
meet and sing. Just music and the sea and the meeting of strangers who
sometimes are your best friends. Spare a thought for Saudi and his comrade
“Tata’- a giant 6 feet 4 inches Ati tribal who wears a belt of skull on his
naked upper torso as standard uniform. Literally pushed out of existence from
the very lands that they were born in as Boracay transformed from a tiny tribal
island to the “world’s best beach destination’, they have retained their
spirit, their hearts and their friendliness. Tata and Saudi are great craftsmen
carving out artefacts and curios from whatever is found on the islands. Skulls,
barks of trees, bones, animal remains and so on. They are also educated, speak
English and live a life of fishing, eating and singing.
As night turned to more night and flirted with dawn as the
sun got ready to rise, new friends were made. And old realisations. The feeling
of being marginalised and pushed to the edges is not a phenomenon in Goa alone.
Over the world, as it changes, the new world consumes the old. And yet as Saudi
and Tata showed, humans connect across ages and civilisations.
Beyond the sheen of Boracay, there has been sadness and
bloodshed. Dexter Condez, was murdered on his way home from a community
meeting. Being college-educated, he was described by Fr Crisostomo as the only
Ati at the time who was able to speak well. Condez was the leading voice in
their claim to their land.
But Saudi and Tata have hearts big enough to reach out to
strangers and woo them with music, song and so much love.
