Along the treelined canal where people work and play, life goes on with an undercurrent that has more ties to past realities than present disruptions. I encounter tattered, almost pagan Catholic votives that protect, a cock being groomed for the fight.
Above, a Santa Nino ("little Christ"): many families pass these on through the generation, as a way of protecting the home. In the market, these seems to indicate that the goods are of good, honest quality. A parade of all the Santa Ninos in the baranguay with floats, taken to the Church where they are blessed by the priest.
I buy carrots, bananas, dalandan, okra. I stop too long to gaze at ancient herbs and votives, an ancient mirror that I at first mistake for hanging fish. A kid comes by and points me to other, more creepy objects high above - they were taken out at the recent Santa Nino festival to "let the baby Jesus play." I emerge with a shiver into daylight.
I buy carrots, bananas, dalandan, okra. I stop too long to gaze at ancient herbs and votives, an ancient mirror that I at first mistake for hanging fish. A kid comes by and points me to other, more creepy objects high above - they were taken out at the recent Santa Nino festival to "let the baby Jesus play." I emerge with a shiver into daylight.
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