At last, our dream for inabel weavers and cotton farmers is coming true

(In a first show of this scope,  a fashion show of inabel fabric collections by a few of the country’s leading designers is in the works for early 2023 at Pinto Art Museum in Antipolo City. Pinto Art Museum had its beginnings in 1986 when the author and some culturati friends wanted a place in Antipolo that would be committed to art, culture and ecology. Before long, it became a destination for Philippine contemporary art, drawing people from all walks of life, young and old, and became one of the most Instagrammable spots in the world, even ahead of the LV in Paris.—Editor)

I started my engagement with cotton farmers and inabel weavers in Pinili, Ilocos Norte, about six years ago.

It all started when I saw a design of inabel, different from the ones I am familiar with in our home in Batac. The inabel we grew up with was used as blankets, pillow cases, and curtains, among others. The designs were either broad lines of really strong colors, usually red, orange, or deep blue. When they were starched, they were so stiff that they could stand on their own.

There were also blankets with more intricate designs like optical illusions, which they called kusikos. These designs were meant to prevent evil spirits from possessing someone in his sleep. When  it got cold in December, the thick blankets called burbur were brought out from our baul smelling of naphthalene. Thick, coarse white towels were assigned to each child. The gossamer kind was used as mosquito nets.

When I came to Manila to study, I brought my inabel blanket, mosquito net, and towels with me. They reminded me of home.

The inabel I saw six years ago was different. It had more delicate designs, flowers, or smaller rectangles, and the colors were not as bold. They were of a softer shade and very feminine. My cousin told me that she knew the weaver, an elderly lady from a remote village near the high mountains in the southeastern part of Ilocos Norte. For her work in inabel, nana Magdalena Gamayo was awarded the Gawad sa Manlilikha ng Bayan (Gamaba) by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA), a citation given to a living treasure who continues to preserve a dying local tradition.

We traveled close to an hour, passing by many tobacco fields going east towards the blue mountains of Nueva Era, to a village called Lumbaan in Pinili, Ilocos Norte, to meet her. I knew she was someone truly special.

“Nana Dalleng” (Magdalena Gamayo) was 91 years old when I first met her, frail and wizened but lively still, busy with her handloom, weaving her inabel with her unique design. I learned from three other elderly weavers with her that she starts weaving at the break of day. She hardly rests. Stopping for a while from the cadence of her nimble feet and deft hands, she told me that her mother taught her how to weave as a child, and this is how she supported her nephews and nieces all these years. She taught the three elderly ladies  how to weave. She was given a monthly allowance by the NCCA so she could teach her craft, but the community needed more looms than what the government had provided them. I immediately sensed that this rich tradition of the Ilocanos needed to be preserved.

Sturdy inabel was used for the sails of galleons which sailed between Acapulco and Manila. I smiled because my inabel blanket kept me warm for years

I started reading about inabel, and the book by HABI, the Philippine Textile Council, was a rich source of information. I was surprised that the book was edited by a friend, a fellow Ilocano, Rene Guatlo. I learned that inabel was a flourishing industry in the Ilocos region in centuries past. I learned that it was very sturdy, and used for the sails of galleons which sailed between Acapulco and Manila. I smiled, because my inabel blanket kept me warm for years and years. Indeed, inabel was sturdy.

I became obsessed with inabel. I kept going back to Lumbaan to learn more about this dying craft of Ilocos. I became very inquisitive, and learned further that the threads used no longer came from Ilocos-farmed cotton. Instead, the threads were synthetic polyester sourced from middlemen from La Union and Manila, and were discards from clothing factories in China.

I remember clearly from my childhood that cotton was farmed extensively in Ilocos. During the war, our family evacuated from our house in town to our little farm in Surangi, where our bamboo cottage overlooked fields planted in a yearly cycle of rice, corn, beans, peanuts, vegetables, and cotton. Water was sourced from a nearby brook where, during the rains, we would catch frogs and mudfish.

I remember  the cotton fields clearly, especially when the flowers ripened into small bulbs which broke into soft, fluffy white stuff which we would play with. After the war, when we returned to our house in town, my mother used to have ladies working in the house squatting on our shiny wooden floor, making threads from the cotton, spun in wheels made of bamboo, much like how Mahatma Gandhi was always depicted in history books.

In the local market, these loops of cotton threads, now with bright colors, were displayed and bought by women who had their own handlooms underneath their homes. It was an industry that provided the Ilocano men and women with clothing materials for everyday wear. On Sundays, when everyone went to church, the women wore their inabel pandiling, with their best filigree jewelry called tambourines, and looking holy, their faces half-covered with veils of the finest lace.

I sat down with three farmers, their faces scraggy and wrinkled from too much sun, and asked them when was the last time they planted cotton. They had abandoned cotton almost two decades ago in favor of Virginia tobacco, which was more profitable until middlemen, mostly Chinese, took advantage of them by offering prices much lower than their production cost. Virginia was their yellow gold, then. Also, the waterholes went dry when the trees in the nearby mountains were cut for firewood used to cure their tobacco before it was sold. Their eyes spoke of misery.

I challenged the farmers that if I provided them with a water pump, would they consider growing cotton again?

I queried them on what would be their most immediate need, so they could plant cotton again. They showed me a waterhole now half dry. I challenged them that if I provided them with a water pump, would they consider growing cotton again? Grudgingly they said yes, but then they didn’t have seeds to plant. I promised to buy them a water pump costing P30,000, the price of a small painting.

That night, I lay awake thinking of the next challenge: where to find the cotton seeds. I knew I could find them.

I remembered a row of white structures built during the time of President Marcos, across the university named after his father, and dedicated to research on tobacco and cotton. That summer, Irene Marcos Araneta was on vacation in Currimao, where her breezy vacation house was near mine. I called her, and soon we were meeting scientists in the research center involved in upgrading cotton seeds, and yes, they had a seedbank that we could offer the farmers to plant.

Ed Rinen of the Philippine Fiber Industry Development Authority (PhilFIDA) has become a very dear friend. He assured us that he would meet the farmers to shepherd them in planting cotton on two hectares previously planted to Virginia tobacco, the first after so many years when the fields of Ilocos Norte were barren of cotton.

I learned a lot from Ed. I learned that the seeds NSIC-C111, a cross between Gumba 500 and UPL-C2, were approved by the National Seed Industry Council (NSIC) for commercial use. It is quite resistant to leafhopper, a pest that can devastate a plantation—definitely an improvement from seeds whose grown plants were easy prey to insects.

Before the rains stopped, the farmers, under the guidance of Ed, planted the precious seeds. They pumped water from the deepened hole. I insisted that they use compost and not organic fertilizers, and that they should not use insecticides but rather plant marigolds in between to keep away insects.

I had always been an avid gardener, having been assigned to take care of our garden in Batac. I was assigned to water our avocado, chico, pomelo, and coconut plants as well as our rosal, camia and lilies and multicolored croton.

As a neurologist, I had learned that inorganic fertilizers were highly suspected as the cause of many neurodegenerative diseases like amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease). I saw many patients who slowly went into an inexorable decline. Since then I had become an advocate for compost.

A few months later, Niña Corpuz, broadcast journalist, heralded the first crop by happily going in between rows of cotton on her TV show.

The two hectares yielded close to a thousand kilos of raw cotton. Everyone in nana Dalleng’s village in Lumbaan became excited at this bounty

The two hectares yielded close to a thousand kilos of raw cotton. Everyone in Nana Dalleng’s village in Lumbaan became excited at this bounty. The children were excited to help remove the cotton from their sepals. They were stiff and brown and with a string, they could be beaded together into curtains. They looked very rustic, and decorators came to buy them. Even the farmers worked into the night to help string them for cash. You could feel an air of anticipation, with villagers coming to ogle this crop that was new to them.

Having realized that it was still a long way before this fortune could be converted into fabric, we had to think hard. In my memory, I knew that the ladies who worked in our sala had novel ways to remove the seeds, to flatten the cotton fluffs and make them into threads. I knew the materials used for traditional processing had been lost. The rueda were sold as antiques, as were the other paraphernalia. Vintage, they called them in antique shops.

I went back to Ed in his office in PhilFIDA in Batac, and he informed me that the processing of the cotton was being done in Taguig, where the office of the Philippine Textile Research Institute (PTRI)  is located. I made an appointment to see director Celia Elumba, with Ed Murillo, who became interested in inabel after his many visits to my place in Ilocos, Sitio Remedios.

Director Elumba gave us a one-hour lecture on the processing of cotton. We stayed for almost a day getting acquainted with their mandate. They obliged us, even treated us to lunch. We learned that they were processing cotton produce from Aklan. I quickly called Maribel Ongpin, a culture advocate and dear friend, who I know is involved in the fiber projects in Aklan. She urged me to go on with the Ilocos cotton project. The staff of PTRI showed us their machines for ginning (removing the seed) as well as the processing of threads. The traditional way of processing, beautifully documented by University of the Philippines (UP) professor Norma Respicio, is now mechanized.

I went back to Pinili to look at the many sacks of unprocessed cotton. The farmers were anxious to know if I had found any buyers. Nobody would buy unprocessed cotton. Knowing that the farmers had to see cash pronto, I took the next big step. I bought a ton of unprocessed cotton, and the farmers and their families were happy. I was rewarded with the promise that they would plant five hectares of their land in the next planting season. More farmers became interested in planting cotton at last. From zero to 10 farmers in a year of farming is pretty good progress!

I had to find a truck to bring my ton of cotton to Taguig for processing into threads—close to 500 km from Lumbaan.

Upon arrival in PTRI, I was told that some of my precious cargo was destroyed in transit. It was inevitable, I consoled myself, considering the distance.

Finally the processing was finished. I had in my possession honest-to-goodness cotton threads! They came in spools, hundreds of them

Finally the news from PTRI came back, weeks later, that the processing was finished. I had in my possession honest-to-goodness cotton threads! They came in spools, hundreds of them. Now I knew they had to be protected from the elements on their long trip back to my beloved Ilocos.

The events building in Sitio Remedios, dedicated to Juan Luna, was converted into a warehouse for thousands of spools of pure cotton.

I brought some to nana Dalleng in Lumbaan, proud of what the farmers had produced, and told them how it was processed. I did not tell them that I spent a fortune, but no matter; the farm-to-fabric journey was half done.

I told my cousin that when I die, the blanket will be buried with me. It is a revered tradition in Ilocos

From the beige cotton threads I gave to nana Dalleng, she wove a blanket. She gave it to me as a gift on my birthday. My heart was full of thanks, and I am keeping the precious blanket in my baul. I told my cousin that when I die, the blanket will be buried with me. It is a revered tradition in Ilocos to bury the dead in their treasured inabel.

We asked the weavers to do tablecloths, scarfs, travelling blankets. I gave them as gifts to friends who mattered on my inabel journey.

I had a long talk with Ed Rinen in Batac, and told him about how unsustainable the processing of the cotton was, not even counting the tremendous expense. We agreed on the tenable solution—that the cotton be processed where it is harvested, right there in Lumbaan. Also, for the project to prosper, the farmers and weavers should form a cooperative to protect their interests. The cooperative would be their strategy for lobbying and determining a fair price for their produce.

Dialogues continued, factions formed, but they all agreed cotton farming and inabel weaving would become a common bond despite all their personal differences. The number of weavers increased from three to 18. A young lass of 18 and a boy learned how to weave under the patient mentorship of nana Dalleng. More looms were donated by the local government, adding to the six that I bought for them. Inabel weaving finally has a chance to survive in this village.

A farmer, Wilson Abucay, who understood that the processing should be in Lumbaan, donated a parcel of his land. A generous gentleman farmer, indeed! Quickly, Ed, with the help of Sen. Loren Legarda, granted PhilFIDA funds to build the first phase of the Ilocos Cotton Processing Center. Slowly, the building rose majestically near a bamboo grove, a site where progress will happen in this far, forsaken land. It is envisioned  to serve the needs of cotton farmers from Pangasinan all the way to the far north.

Honeylet Avanceña, partner of then President Rodrigo Duterte, surprised me with a request to take her to the farm in Pinili—a quiet visit

On one of my visits to Malacañang Palace, Honeylet Avanceña, the lovely partner of then President Rodrigo Duterte, surprised me with a request to take her to the farm in Pinili. I was taken aback; she had heard of my project in Ilocos. Of course, it would be a quiet visit, she insisted, with no politicians included. Just you and me, please, she said in a whisper.

And so, one sunny day, we flew on a private plane and descended via helicopter on the fields very near where Nana Dalleng wove.

The descent of the helicopter attracted the villagers of Lumbaan, all wide-eyed and taken by surprise. We inched our way to the weaving area, where the then First Lady  took a bow to kiss Nana Dalleng’s much-wrinkled hands and embraced her lovingly, warmly. She talked to the weavers first, then to the farmers, and then to the families, now all gathered in a crowd and admiring her. She engaged them in animated conversation, asking about problems in the community, and graciously listening to their answers. I knew then that this former nurse held the men and  women of Lumbaan in the palm of her hand. She bade goodbye after partaking of tinudok na saba and buying a few of their weaves, which she promised she would wear.

We went next to the processing center being built, and the staff of PhilFIDA explained how the machines would hasten the progress of weaving as a livelihood in this remote village.

We retreated for lunch to Sitio Remedios as we talked about how to address the necessary gaps. She thought about a pavilion in the international airport to showcase the wealth of our weaving tradition in practically all of our islands, and said that the first exhibit will be on inabel. The excitement heightened. I talked to Rene Guatlo to prepare to bring out his vintage trove of inabel, and alerted Niña Corpuz and Edgar Madamba, both Ilocanos, to show the clothes that they had designed using inabel. I also asked then Vice Mayor Chrislyn Abadilla of Banna, Ilocos Norte, who started her weaving project in their town, to bring her gift items made of inabel.

One day while in my clinic, I got a call from the Palace to come at an appointed date, as President Duterte wanted to meet Magdalena Gamayo and the weavers. The First Lady told him about our visit to the cotton farms and the weaving village. Nana Dalleng and three of the lady weavers came by a coach specifically prepared for them. I brought Ed Rinen and some officers of PhilFIDA.

That afternoon, the President was busy presiding over a recognition ceremony for the Southeast Asian Games athletes who made the Philippines proud. Then he came to the reception room where we were seated, and like a dutiful son, took the hands of Nana Dalleng gently to his forehead, then spoke to her with all respect.

Duterte ordered the Director of the National Irrigation Authority (NIA) to immediately release P30 million for a solar-powered irrigation system

Then he turned to me and asked how his office could help in the Lumbaan project. With confidence, I emphasized the need for a solar powered irrigation system. He ordered the Director of the National Irrigation Authority (NIA) to immediately release P30 million for this purpose. I then requested for P6 million for the completion of the second phase of the Ilocos Cotton Processing Center. Director Andrea Domingo was ordered to release the amount from the Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corporation (Pagcor). Candidly, the President remarked how P36 million was a small amount, compared to what is lost in graft and corruption, and how it can benefit a worthwhile project and create an impact on the socioeconomic condition of a community.

The NIA Director assured us of the prompt installation of a solar-powered irrigation system to serve the water needs of 50 ha of farmland. I was elated. The two hectares irrigated by my P30,000 contribution had now expanded to 50 ha with the budget the President had authorized. The second phase of the processing center started promptly, as the check from Pagcor was signed with the PhilFIDA the same night. I saw the majesty of the Office of the President that  fateful afternoon.

Assured that the building of the Ilocos Cotton Processing Center was in the bag, I turned to PhilFIDA to make sure they had enough manpower and expertise to assure  the farmers of operational efficiency. Director Rinen and his staff were confident that they could deliver.

COVID-19 struck in March 2020, and soon everything was at a standstill. By late 2021, the lockdowns were eased and work on the two projects lumbered on.

The NIA inaugurated three of the solar-powered irrigation systems in Lumbaan. Seeing that the irrigation system could also benefit the farmers of nearby Nueva Era, I called the Mayor, my godson, to encourage farmers in his domain to plant cotton. Director Rinen called him to assure him of the supply of seeds.

Mayor Carlito Abadilla of Banna and his wife told me of their plans to plant cotton in addition to rice. The lovely Vice Mayor had already started a weaving project among the women of Banna. I dream that all the towns in Ilocos Norte will follow.

The next big challenge was to establish a facility adjacent to the processing center to color the thread. I embarked on a project for this purpose that remained true to the organic nature of the thread. This was being done in the Cordilleras, especially in Tayum, Abra, and also for a fiber project in Aklan. I communicated with Maribel Ongpin, who provided me with a bagful of tayum seeds, where the natural colorant indigo comes from. I got in touch with my friends in Abra to send me seedlings which I could buy.

The Philippines was indeed the Pearl of the Orient! Tayum was one product that was coveted by the industrialized West 

I read books on this process, an ancient tradition indigenous to many tribes around the world. I became friends with Edward Easton, introduced by the Zobels, who is supporting the weavers of Nicaragua. I voraciously read books on the processes. I learned that the street Tayuman was where you found warehouses for vats of tayum, the local name of indigo, waiting to be exported. This was obvious, as Tayuman was near the piers of Manila, which was, after all, the trading post of the Orient where all the merchants of the East and West came to trade. The Philippines was indeed the Pearl of the Orient! Tayum was one product of the Philippines then that was coveted by the industrialized West.

The Philippines is one of the most biologically diverse groups of islands in the world. From our plants and trees, we can derive a wealth of products for food and medicines. To have the cotton fibers colored before they are woven into fabrics, thus increasing their value, I scoured the literature on this subject, and found a lot of material in books published in Abra, from conversations I had with culture advocates from the Aklan project of HABI, and from experience in the Cordilleras.

I remembered an old man who asked for a broken branch of camachile which fell after a storm. Curious, I asked what he would use it for, and he told me it was a source of deep red and he would use it for his faded shirt. I found literature on this from Mexico and Central and South America.

I had always been a believer in a dictum that has guided me in my practice of medicine: Think globally, act locally. I was going to use the same principle in the colorant project for the cotton threads in my possession. It is common knowledge that aside from camachile, native luya, lugo, narra, achuete, mahogany bark, and some vegetables can impart colors to the threads. My problem was to find out how the colors can stay for a long time.

I turned to an industrial chemist, Loreli Manzano, who worked in the research department of the Mariano Marcos State University in Batac and who knew about mordants or dye fixatives. She had been successful in extracting alcohol from sorghum, and the university distributed the rubbing alcohol to our province mates during the pandemic.

We used the laundry area of Sitio Remedios to color the threads based on the experiments of Loreli. It gave work to my staff at Sitio when we closed during the lockdowns. The exciting colors indeed came out. The formulas were carefully recorded by Loreli, to be used as reference for those who would venture into this business. This knowledge will be used for the coloring facility in the cotton processing center in Lumbaan when it is fully operational.

When the colored fibers dried well under the hot Ilocos sun, we were eager to bring them to the weavers. For some reason, Rene suggested to bring the colored threads to his suki weavers in Sarrat. I will bring some to Nana Dalleng in Lumbaan for her to use in her designs. We will search for more plant sources for colorants to complete the colors of the rainbow and their varied permutations.

There is more work to be done. The challenge is to have more farmers in Ilocos, and hopefully in nearby provinces and the whole country, planting cotton again, to make the process of converting raw cotton into threads cheaper and more sustainable, and to add variety to the colorants. When we accomplish these, we hope to make local cotton available to many weavers, both locally and abroad.

The chain from the good seed, to be distributed widely to the farmers, will provide many opportunities for livelihood every step of the way. The fabric derived can then be turned into as many products as the imagination can conjure, providing livelihood opportunities to create wealth for so many people in our communities.

As a doctor, I am always mindful of the determinants of health, chief of which is the socioeconomic condition of the people we serve. To raise their standard of living, they must be empowered through education, and with wide opportunities for livelihood. Civil society and government are enablers in the fulfillment of this goal.

The cotton journey goes on. More has to be done for the lives of our cotton farmers and inabel weavers to progress. The whole community must help to fulfill that dream.