The Life of a Little Boy Growing Up in the ’50s.
By: Edwin de Leon
In this season of gift-giving, as usual, I gave books to some select friends. In keeping with my practice not to give anything too controversial ( nothing like a Harpur (religion ) or anything to do with Lying King Trump), it would be more like a bathroom reader or a joke book. One of the titles I selected this year was Andrew Thompson’s ” What Did We Use Before Toilet Paper” ( Curious Questions and Intriguing Answers ). Well aware of our shared experience in the Philippines, my friend wrote back to remind me of the “sticks and twigs” of those years in the ’50s.
It has come at a most opportune time as I search for lighter topics of interest to explore. Those who have followed my earlier articles must have had a fill of my discourses about religion, as my wife has. The reason is quite simple, and that is because, for me, it is the most manageable topic to write. Besides the mountain of books I have read about the subject, it comes from the heart, prodded by a retrospective view of my sectarian upbringing in the Philippines and coinciding with the West’s unmistakable secular transformation. I often call it Enlightenment 2.0. As a (retired) science teacher, religion presents many ideas that are diametrically antithetical to mine.
One of the things I like about science is that it does not threaten you with eternal damnation if you disagree.
So the book “What Did We Use Before Toilet Paper” brought up many memories as a young boy growing up along Manila Bay’s shores. For our young readers’ benefit, a beachfront house where we lived is far from the likes of a Malibu beach. In fact, this stretch of beachfront dwellings is home to dirt poor ( we most definitely fit this description. “Dirt Poor” originally was coined for poor people whose house has a dirt floor; ours had packed dirt for flooring although slightly better than a “silong.” We had a second floor with “banig” for bedding ) families.
Like many struggling households closest to the edge of the water, our house did not have running water nor a toilet. The sandy beach was the toilet! It was also the playground and the garbage dump. The beach was remarkably clean considering the number of people using it, even sustaining certain species of crabs and shellfish ( “Halamis Tae” ). The high tides ensured that whatever mess was on it was polished off regularly. Like an eraser that cleans the chalkboard, the shorelines are cleaned every day, ready to receive a fresh load of crap. There were many edible shellfish, blue crabs, sea cucumbers, shrimps, and fish just a few feet into the water. The water salinity kept it “clean” for swimming even as an occasional turd gets in the way.
It was not about how we cleaned ourselves, but what little boys do in the process. In the early 50s, fishing was a thriving economic activity in Manila Bay. The menfolk heads out with small outriggers at night, and in the early morning, they “park” their “banka” high up the beach. With the catch sorted out for the market, the boats’ area becomes a natural spot where we poop. Often, my friend Joe ( my generic buddy ) would be on the other side of the boat. As a six or seven-year-old, I don’t much recall the kind of conversation we would engage in as we go through our routine. ( could have been: “Got worms?”…read on )
But squatting and pooping is only a small part of the ritual. There is a sand crab species that burrows in the upper reaches of the black beach we call “kolokoy.” Before settling down to do our business, we would take a quick survey to look for fresh burrows, then squat in front of it. With a spiraled twine with a loop at the end ( this is a standard piece of “implement” we carried all the time ), we would coax the crab onto the hitch, tighten it with a twist and slowly pull it out of the borrow… all while pooping. Even as six-year-olds, we never thought of the crab as fit for eating; we were smart enough to know what they feed on! If the crab is a big one, we would tie a string in one of the legs and walk it around like a pet.
To clean ourselves, we duck walk along, holding our drawers, to the edge of the water. As six-year-olds, nobody gives a shit (pun intended!) about privacy. I have no recollection of anyone carrying any paper when we head out to the beach. If there are no seashells around, we go to the water. Sometimes, I would toss the (used ) shell to Joe on the other side of the boat. All in all, this ritual has many “entertainment” angle to it.
It was not common to see the girls at the beach for the same purpose; either they are more squeamish about their privacy, or as in many households, the womenfolk use a chamberpot (“arinola”). I know this because I was in charge of emptying the pot most mornings at the edge of the water, swirl some sand in it before putting it back into service again.
There was a downside to all these. In the early 50s, in the mostly poor neighborhood, sanitation was rudimentary, if that. Stepping on feces, especially at night, is a rite of passage—the fishermen who must move their boat to the water never even give it a second thought. When I think of the things bought at the open market nearby ( often unrefrigerated or covered in flies ), I often wonder how I escaped dysentery, typhoid, or hepatitis A in all those years. ( It is now theorized that the low incidence of COVID 19 in the Philippines results from the poor’s exposure, hence acquired immunity, to all kinds of viruses. Poverty, it seems, has put a protective advantage to many of them )
Parasitic infections were common, which at the time were looked upon as just a nuisance. As I recall, nearly all people, especially the boys and the fisherfolk, were all infected with spaghetti-like giant white worms (“Ascaris Lumbricoides” ). Playing in contaminated sand kept the worms in perpetuity as the eggs get ingested, complete their life cycle in the intestines, and mature worms come out with the feces. And nuisance they were; when you have too much of these, they would descend to the anus and try to wiggle themselves out. So out you go to the beach, find a couple of popsicle sticks or aroma twigs, and “chopsticks” it out. Sometimes, I pull Joe’s. We help each other’s out. It was no big deal! While pinworms and tapeworms were also prevalent, nothing was as visual as ascaris.
Another common disorder was scabies, caused by small mites that burrow through the skin, causing itching. Because of a lack of treatment, we would scratch until it turns into open sores. It was common to be walking around with gaping sores covered with powered ” sulfathizole” ( the preferred home treatment at the time ) or red with “mercurochrome.” When it heals, it forms a scab that gets scratched out and then “sulfathiozoled” again until it finally heals. Few in my generation ever forget it because it leaves a “peclat” ( a round scar) on your skin, mostly in the lower legs.
All the infection disappeared on their own after we moved out into a more inland location. I was then about eight years old, and yes, we had a toilet. Beach games no more, but the allure of new diversions were just beginning.
( A sequel to this article will be in the March 1-15 issue )
Footnotes:
The wide swath of Manila Bay’s shoreline, south from Dewey ( Roxas ) Blvd. to Cavite, where I spent my early childhood as detailed above, is no more. In the ’70s, the Coastal Expressway’s construction to link Manila to Cavite, sealed the pollution built up for decades, eventually destroying this area’s ecosystem. Gone are species of shellfish like “Batotoy,” “Balay,” “Halamis,” “Kaligay,” overrun by silt and septic ooze. Also gone are plant species that used to thrive in this area like “Aroma,” “Moras,” “Camachile,” “Siniguelas.”
There is a freshwater tributary feeding a small section of the bay in the center of Paranaque City. The brackish water in this part of the bay was home to many clams species ( “Halaan”). At low tide, people congregate in this area to dig for this delicacy. As well, Paranaque City became famous as the home of “Salambao” ( a giant net held by long bamboo arms, mounted on a raft ), a fishing method used in the brackish water of this tributary. The loss of rice farming, salt making and thriving mangroves upriver due to population pressures, industrialization, and the build-up of toxic sludge destroyed this tributary, killing every vestige of marine life in this area.
Edwin de Leon ( edwingdeleon@gmail.com)
