I miss my Sinulog

One of my earliest memories of the Sinulog Festival is of a well-dressed young woman brandishing her umbrella at two young men in an attempt to prevent them from putting grease on her face. It must have been in the early years of what is now branded as the “Mother of all Festivals” in the country. These days, no one wears a white sleeveless blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and black pumps while walking along Mango Avenue on the day of the Grand Parade.

Everyone now dresses to brave the heat,
crowd and long hours of walking during
the Sinulog Grand Parade.

I was still a high school student when the City of Cebu started holding the Sinulog in 1980. I got to dance in the street when spectators could still join the parade, but never as part of a contingent since St. Theresa’s College was not among the participating schools. My sister, though, was among those in the University of San Carlos contingent and I remember her boyfriend joining the group as a “watcher”, although it was apparent that the only one he was interested in watching was my sister, who he zealously guarded from would-be hecklers. Security was not tight at the time and anyone could come up to anyone and dirty their face with grease, usually taken from cars parked nearby and God knows where else.

I also remember that in the early years, the dance route passed my Lola’s house along Osmeña Blvd. (then called Jones Ave.) so there was one time when high school friends joined us on the roof to watch the street dancing from a comfortable and good vantage point.

Devotees try to get near the cart carrying
the image of the Senor Sto. Nino during
the solemn procession.

As the years passed, our family got less and less interested in joining the Mardi Gras, held every third Sunday of January to cap the week-long festival held in honor of Señor Sto. Niño. We were usually tired from joining the solemn procession the day before. But really, we just did not want to brave the heat, traffic and the crowd that seemed to multiply with each passing year and preferred to stay within the comfort of home and watch the dancing on TV.

We did watch the whole slew of dances at the grandstand: once when accompanying my sister and her husband who visited from San Diego and another time to accompany our eldest sister, who wanted her son to experience the Sinulog.  It was interesting to watch it all through the eyes of a visitor, and then those of a child.

When I started working at the Metro Cebu Water District, we started manning stalls giving free drinking water along the Grand Parade route so it became all about work. More so when I joined Smart Communications, Inc. and was sent to Cebu several times by the Makati head office because I am a Cebuana and thus, deemed well qualified to cover the company’s participation in the festival.

This was at the height of the battle of the telcos for exclusivity at festivals. Smart was everywhere, from the fluvial procession, to the reenactment, to man-on-the street interviews regarding wireless communications technology, to Red Cross support during the solemn procession as well as the Grand Parade, and even on sponsorship of a dance contingent and a float. I was dripping Sinulog from head to toe, but it was not with religion and faith.

The Sinulog now is far, far different and much, much grander than the Sinulog of my youth. The dances at the grandstand and the fireworks finale, particularly, still take my breath away and make me proud of my Cebuano culture and heritage, now on show to the world.   But I still long for a simpler time, when one did not have to push through crowds, when there were no chokepoints, when grandstand tickets were affordable, and when the crowd, though a bit unruly, was manageable. I long to walk in solemn prayer and wave my hands in the air at the chorus of “Bato Balani”  during the procession and just look at the sea of humanity that prays with me, without all those tablets, camera phones and selfie sticks in the way.

I miss my Sinulog.