5000 pairs of sandals

It looked as if all the residents of Koronadal had trooped to the center of the city.

More than five thousand people, majority of them wearing sandals, came last night to witness the last part of Hinugyaw Festival. Alunan Avenue was closed for vehicles and opened for hoi polloi.

The hinugyaw (Ilonggo for shouting and merry-making) got louder and merrier at 10 pm, during the fireworks display at the roundball.

Map of Koronadal's Hub

At 8:30 pm, some dormmates and I went to Alunan to have dinner, which turned out to be a not-so-good idea. The food was bad. (The best way to enjoy the place, as I’ve tried in an Octoberfest before, is to have San Mig Light and Chippy, while listening to the band on stage.)

After eating, we walked back to our dorm. From the kiosks to the roundball, it took us more than half-hour to pass through the multitude.

I’ve never been to a Disco sa Kalye (street disco) before, so I was amused with the small discoveries I made. The street wasn’t packed with teenage punks—as I expected—but with people of all ages and from different walks of life.

One crazy couple had their five-month-old baby with them. And though I did not see a graybeard with a cane, I saw a woman in her fifties in lavender spaghettis.

In every fifteen meters or so, a sound system was in full blast. One had Sean Kingston (“You’re way too beautiful, girl…”). Another had a Cebuano copy-cat (You’re way too beautiful, gay…”).

Huddled in front of the large music boxes, dancing to their hearts' content, were elementary-school pupils and a few teenage drag queens.

We passed along General Santos Drive and headed straight to our dorm, reaching it by 10 pm, just in time for the fireworks display. We rushed to the rooftop and watched.

I was amazed with the fireworks--and appalled by the smoke it generated. In 12 minutes, the sky above the roundball was covered in a mass of gray cloud.

Before going to sleep, I was thinking about global warming.

Running after the Mardi Gras

Koronadal City--Last night, I felt like a paparazzi dying to take a photo of Britney Spears.

With my classmate Arian, the youngest barangay councilor in the city and perhaps in the country, I jogged almost a kilometer trying to capture for posterity the Marbeleño Mardi Gras (Marbeleño refers to the people of Marbel, Koronadal's old but still popular name).

Our mini-marathon did not produce good results, though. My pictures were a mess and we were only able to witness a small part of the night-time street dancing.


Dancers waiting for their turn in front KCC Mall

When Arian and I got out of the school, at about 6:45 pm, we saw the tail of the parade. We ran towards it. I kept trying to get a perfect picture but I was met with every kind of problem: the light in the lamp post was too glaring, the dancers were just walking straight, or the street was too crowded.

Before we knew it, we were near the roundball, at pace with the first dance troupe. When all the competing groups had passed, we whiled away the hours at the roundball, chatting beside the water fountain.

We later noticed that the people were crowding in the street in front of KCC Mall, where, we found out, the street dancers would have a mass demonstration. When Arian and I got there, all we could see were the heads and shoulders of the people in front us.

Still, our moods weren’t spoiled. We laughed at how crazy we must have looked running the long stretch of Alunan Avenue. And we had a chance to share stories, which we haven’t had for quite some time.

Local history told through dance

At 3 pm yesterday, the city government's Hinugyaw dance troupe presented the story of the pioneer settlers of Koronadal.


In the early 1940s, present-day Koronadal became one of the resettlement areas under the “Land for the Landless” program of President Manuel L. Quezon. Many people of Luzon and Visayas came to Mindanao in the hope of having a better life.



Indigenous people and Maguindanaoans, who at times fought each other, had been living in the land long before Christian settlers came.






During World War II, the settlers suffered persecution in the hands of the Japanese




Engr. Albert Morrow met with the captain of the invading soldiers and spoke for the people, but he was rebuffed. Morrow--and later his friend Santiago Odin--killed himself. Since the Japanese consider taking one's life an honorable act, the Japanese official belatedly granted Morrow’s plea.


Felipa Garingo, another hero, was executed for refusing to reveal the whereabouts of her brother, a guerilla leader. Her brother later killed the Japanese military leader and his troop in an ambush.


Students from Koronadal Comprehensive National High School made up most of the audience. The girls would shriek every time Meynard, playing the role of Morrow, came out the stage.


Daughter of Lt. Jesus Larrabaster accepting the honor the city government gave to her late father.

Lt. Larrabaster was the supervising overseer of Marbel (Koronadal's old name) resettlement area. Mayor Fernando Miguel's Proclamation No. 1 s. 2007 recognizes Larrabaster as one of the heroes of Koronadal.

Ms. Larrabaster said she "literally cried" when she received the letter in the US.

I gave my Coke-in-can, which was distributed for free in the front rows, to these rowdy kids. A minute later, half of the content was splashed on the floor and the can, crumpled.

I was with my classmate Jerazy. We wanted to go inside the museum but it was closed for renovation.