She was like a nymph as she waded through clear water on her way to the spring ritual. Gently she lowered her wooden basin half filled with soiled linens and clothes. After washing them the bath ritual followed.
From the decades-old coconut shell she got some patchouli leaves which she picked up in her garden and their seductive aroma wafted in the air. (some say this herb is aphrodisiac, but she was not aware of it.) then she opened a banana wrapping of freshly shredded coconut meat, squeezed its creamy white milk and mixed it with patchouli leaves.
Gently she rubbed the concoction to her flowing hair for a few second, from her head to the tip of her curly hair which reached down to her knees.
I thought the ritual was over as I frolicked among the big rocks and looked for glistening stones under the clear water. But it wasn't for she drew a wild citrus fruit locally known as puga (lime) from her small buri basket, squeezed its rinds and applied it to her shiny hair.
Then slowly she dipped into the clear spring submerging her torso but not her head. She got her century-old flat stone which she used in scrubbing her body, saw me gazing at her and called me up.
I dreaded this moment but nobody could stop her. Meekly I approached her and turned my back. The dreadful moment commenced. She scrubbed my dirty back with that infernal stone and how I winched when she scrubbed me hard.
Slowly, please, I pleaded.
Be a brave boy, she said. Your mother had gone through this stone when she was young like you. Now dive into the water and later get this soap.
Her favorite soap was Perla, a laundry soap I liked better than Argo, a foul smelling but cheap soap.
Then she soaped herself and dipped into the running spring. She could still swim like a balanak despite her age.
After what was like eternal ritual, she told me to get the basin, but it was heavy so she decided to carry it on her head herself.
We followed a winding trail about half a kilometer away from our home. How I admired her graceful movement as she balanced her load on her head like a diadem, never for a moment complaining of its weight and the drudgery of washing dirty clothes in Butawan spring and trekking back to our home under the scorching summer heat.
She was my nymph—our maternal grandmother.
That's a nice story, Kuya. Wish I could take some dip in that famous spring!
Yes, but the best part of the spring had been closed to the public by the Water Cooperative. Only the employees are allowed inside.
Well, I think it's for the benefit of the public. Some naughty kids might befoul the spring.
Yes, Nene, Juan replied. I'm sad to admit that it's what they have done. They would defecate in the spring to the consternation of those washing downstream.
When will we learn? Mourned Nene. Every time Nene and her friends strolled along the shore of Manila Bay. They would see tons of floating junks together with human wastes.
Everybody must learn the basics of sanitation, especially proper waste disposal, said Nene.
Yes, said Juan. You will be in charge of environment sanitation subject in our school.
