THE DECISIONS OF KAGIYAW

My mother used to tell us the legend of how Barrio Lalab got its name during our tender years. The story circles around Kagiyaw, a fisherman who made his living down the brackish portion of the Jal-o during his days. By his days, she meant the time when the Spanish colonizers were still arguing whether the world is round or not.

The story started with a decision. Kagiyaw decided to fish down the Jal-o one morning in summer despite the threat of a dreaded river monster called Kugtong. Soon enough, as he was rowing his boat downstream the river, the giant grouper swallowed him—and perhaps his boat. Wow, that's a really huge fish if it can swallow a boat! But Kagiyaw is the protagonist of the story. So he did not instantly die, otherwise the story would not go further than that. Besides, my mother's story was not a tragedy. It was meant to inspire us despite the apparent tribulations life gives us from time to time.

So, while in the belly of the giant grouper, Kagiyaw heard a voice of a fairy or a bird singing, "Eab-eabi! Eab-eabi!" Was it a kingfisher? The fear and disorientation took flight, and he remembered the knife tied to his hip. He grabbed it and started eab-eab—stabbing the belly of the Kugtong until he got out of it and breathed the fresh, sweet morning air.

His resurrected life.

And the birth of the barrio named Eaeab—Lalab.

Kagiyaw swam with the current and led the dead fish ashore. He salvaged the best part of it and called the attention of other fishermen to help him out with the carcass. Those who joined him scaled the Kugtong in what is now called Sitio Himbis, where, on the bank of the river, one could note the scaled formation of some stones.

Soon enough, the news of the feat of Kagiyaw spread out. People from all over were attracted by the prospect of taking a part of the carcass of the vanquished Kugtong and of meeting the man of the hour. Some of them managed to have a share, which they sun-dried for preservation. Today, the place where they sun-dried the fish is called Sitio Kaeug-a, meaning a place of dried fish.

Some of the meat rotted after long exposure to the elements. The place where some of the carcass decomposed is now called Sitio Ban-os. Residents thus decided to bury the rotten meat to get rid of the foul odor. That place was called Sitio Maeubong, signifying the place where they buried the remains of the Kugtong.

People upstream along the brackish Jal-o waited for their errands to arrive with their prize, only to see them come empty-handed. That place is now known as Sitio Hueaton, or the place where people waited.

Upriver, people grew impatient with the waiting and decided to catch fish for their lunch. They were those from the place called Sitio Pinamunitan, meaning a place where people decided to catch fish through line, hook, and sinker.

The story began with a personal decision on the part of Kagiyaw. It ended with a decision made by a community whose waiting had failed them. They chose to follow the river themselves and go fishing.

And so, along the Jal-o, the story of a fisherman who escaped the belly of a giant grouper lives on in the names of places. The river carries their memories downstream, past Lalab, toward Banga Bay and the Sibuyan Sea.

The people may have long departed, and the Kugtong may have returned to the realm of legend. But the names remain, each preserving a fragment of the story: where the fish was scaled, where its meat was dried, where its remains rotted and were buried, where people waited, and where they finally decided to fish for themselves.

Perhaps that is how a community remembers—not only through the stories passed down by our mothers, but also through the names of places we continue to inhabit.

The river flows on.

The decisions remain.