My Siwsiwan Fabric

Most people have at least one or two things about their cultural heritage that remind them of their roots.  For me, two things always come to mind: handwoven fabrics and dipping sauce.

The fabrics are anything but ordinary. Mainly red with black, white, yellow, and green accents; these pieces of cloth represent my indigenous Igorot heritage. During my elementary school years in Oak Park, Illinois, they were used to decorate the top of our dining room credenza and other pieces of furniture.  In Palm Coast, Florida, they covered the same furniture moved there from Oak Park and my parent’s bed.  The same was true in Forest Park, Illinois.

As a child, I did not know the significance of our fabric.  I thought they were just normal Filipino fabrics every Filipino family owned.  I remember stories of how they were hand woven by my aunties in the Mountain Province back home, but I was too consumed with becoming “American” to appreciate it.

It wasn’t until my early thirties that I went home to the Mountain Province to see how they woven.  I watched as one of my aunties sat on the ground and demonstrated the process that went behind the creation of our fabrics and gained an instant appreciation for it.  I learned how each Igorot tribe had their own distinct colors and patterns, and how they were used for clothing as well.   

Since the fabric was always used for decoration at my house; I didn’t realize how it played more of an integral part of our ancestral attire.  The fabrics are used for the men’s “wanes” (bahag or g-string) and the women’s “lufid or getup” (tapis or wrap-around skirt).  Unlike the fabric of other Igorot tribes, our Bontoc tribe fabrics are unique in that they have symbols woven into the patterns.

The typical symbols are images of a human, star, eye, shield, spear, snake, and lizard.  Each one has its own meaning, which makes the Bontoc fabric even more meaningful. For instance, the eye represents guidance and the human figure represents the Igorot warrior, who is the epitome of bravery.

The second thing is the small bowl of dipping sauce that accompanied almost every meal called “Siwsiwan.”  My parents always made theirs with sabaw (soup stock), salt, and sili (hot pepper). I always found this to be a perfect pair with meat, but when it comes to fish and seafood; I use a mix of soy sauce, sili, and calamansi. Another favorite is a concoction of vinegar, garlic, sili, salt and red pepper.  There were always different variations, but these were the most common.

My parents made it a point to always eat together as a family.  Our meals were almost always homemade and filled with memories.  Conversation and laughter often made its way to the table.  I still remember my mother sneaking a tape recorder into the kitchen to record our babbling jokes, laughter and conversations.   So much took place around the kitchen table.

Both fabric and siwsiwan are two of the many sinulid (threads) that are woven into my “inner Igorot” fabric in life.  Some say that one cannot identify themselves as Igorot just by bloodline.  Others say one must be part of an Igorot community in the Cordilleras to be Igorot.  The whole topic of how one identifies oneself as an Igorot can get very diverse depending on one’s point of view.  The same can be said with many of the other ethnicities in America and abroad.

I may not intimately “know” the land my parents once spent their entire childhood and much of their adulthood, but it is part of me.  Every time I look at my family blanket on the wall or dip the pinch-full of fish into my siswiwan; I am reminded of my parents, who were Igorot.

Thus, how can we first and second generation Igorots in America and elsewhere outside the Philippines keep our heritage alive in a world that often makes it difficult? Maybe it’s as simple as keeping the siwsiwan at the kitchen table with the family gathered around and the fabrics nearby.

Figures in the Lubid (from left to right): eye, man, lizard, star, star variation, snake, butterfly, shield, spear and flower.
All the figures, except for the flower, are woven into the garment.  The flower is embroidered.
photo by: Christina Nguslab courtesy of: Maria Luz Delson Fang-asan