There is no other flower so closely related to Zamboanga than the ubiquitous bougainvillea. My contention is this - it is the bougainvillea that gave Zamboanga its famed stature as the “City of Flowers,” justified or not. For sure, there are many other cities in the country that can claim that title. Who can deny Baguio’s flower prominence long before it decided to showcase it in floral float parades during its annual flower festival? Who can rival Davao’s flower power when it comes to orchids? If quality and variety are to be the standards, where will Zamboanga land? Neither for flower quality or variety but for the lovely, lowly bougainvillea of Zamboanga, that many cities are willing to part with the title “City of Flowers.”

As far back as I can recall, bougainvillea have adorned the homes and gardens of the Zamboangueños. They can be seen along highways and by-ways of the city and in its public parks and gardens. And what a spectacular sight they make in their myriad of colors and profusion of blooms. So fabulous in display that it is hard to remove from one’s mind the image of a flower-laden city.

I can not forget how as a boy living in the barrio, I watched foreign tourists stop and alight from cars to take photos of a nipa-hut, just along the road, that was almost covered with bougainvillea. Sometimes, they turn to face the other side of the road, aim and zoom their lenses to the corridor of our two-storey wooden house, standing alone and far off the road, but also bedecked with vibrant potted bougainvillea.

The woman of the hut, I remember, didn’t have elaborate garden rituals but to sweep her yard briskly with an escoba tingting (a broom of bundled coconut sticks) until the bare ground turns like hardened cement and to splash her plants with a pail of water. Yet her garden is incomparable and picture-postcard in beauty.

Sadly, that little hut with bougainvillea bursting in the garden is already a thing of the past, pushed behind commercial stalls that now line the side of the road. Sceneries like this are fast becoming a rarity. How much less lively and colorful mi pueblo can be without them? Let’s bring back the glory of the bougainvillea!

Bougainvillea, they say is of Brazilian origin. (Hmmp, another Latin connection?) They love the sun and like warm tropical climate, that’s why they grow very well here. These flowering vines are among the most popular and most beautiful tropical plants. They are vigorous, hardy, evergreen, woody with spines. They grow readily from cuttings and grow best under stress. To a greater extend, they are pretty much like the Zamboangueño in character. So, hola bougainvillea, claim your rightful place!

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I don’t remember ever trying to put to memory “Padre Nuestro” - the Spanish “Our Father” or oftentimes called the ”Lord’s Prayer.” But ask me to recite it and it would be like second nature to me. Not that I have any special language ability. I can’t even repeat from memory any other prose in Spanish save perhaps “Ave Maria” and a spluttering of Rizal’s “Mi Ultimo Adios,” which I spent agonizing days memorizing to make it through mandatory Spanish class in college. Spanish, these days though, is no longer compulsory education.

Now, where does my uncanny ability come from? I guess it comes from having heard the prayer oft repeatedly in childhood from saying grace, the Angelus, the rosary, novenas, and from processions, Holy Week cantatas, and almost every form of religious worship including funeral wakes.

Those were the days when prayers were said in Spanish. Those were the days when mi Abuela (my grandma) was still around. With her demise however, I noticed Spanish prayers were being said less and less, like she must have taken them with her to the grave. English prayers became the norm.

Not too long ago, I heard about the translation and publication of the Bible in Chavacano and maybe together with that, some of the well known prayers too. So much so that the “Padre Nuestro,” once akin to Chavacano would become passe.

Aside from Zamboanga, other Chavacano speaking towns in the country, I learned, have their own version of the “Padre Nuestro.” I just don’t know how and when they sprung into usage. Here are the translations:

Zamboangueño

Tata de amon talli na cielo, bendito el de Uste nombre. Manda vene con el de Uste reino; hace el de Uste voluntad aqui na tierra, igual como alli na cielo. Dale kanamon el pan para cada dia. Perdona el de amon maga culpa, como ta perdona kame con aquellos quien tiene culpa kanamon. No deja que hay cae kame na tentacion y libra kanamon na mal.

Caviteño

Niso Tata Qui tu na cielo, quida santificao Tu nombre. Manda vini con niso Tu reino; sigui el qui quiere Tu aqui na tierra, igual como na cielo. Dali con niso ahora, niso comida para todo el dia. Perdona el mga culpa di niso, si que laya ta perdona niso con aquel mga qui tiene culpa con niso. No dija qui cai niso na tentacion, pero salva con niso na malo.

Ternateño

Padri di mijotro ta alli na cielo, quida alabao Bo nombre. Lleva con mijotro Bo trono; vini con mijotro Bo reino; sigui cosa qui Bo manda aqui na tiehra parejo alli na cielo. Dali con mijotro esti dia el cumida di mijotro para cada dia. Perdona quel mga culpa ya haci mijotro con Bo, como ta perdona mijotro quel mga culpa ya haci el mga otro genti con mijotro. No dija qui cai mijotro na tintacion, sino haci libra con mijotro na malo.

There you go folks, which sounds more Spanish? Be the judge!

Spanish

Padre nuestro, que estas en el cielo, sanctificado sea tu nombre; venga a nosotros tu reino; hagase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo. Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada dia; perdona nuestras ofensas, como tambien nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden; no nos dejes caer en la tentacion, y libranos del mal.

Amen.

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By way of an introduction, here is a derivative version of a Department of Tourism flyer that encapsulates the essence of Zamboanga:

Welcome to Zamboanga Hermosa!

. . . the gateway to Muslimland, Southeast Asia, Southwest Pacific, and the Fareast;

. . . where the native inhabitants, bear Chinese-Malayan features but answer to American-Spanish names;

. . . where the people are traditionally warm, hospitable, and friendly, living in peace and at peace with one another notwithstanding differences in race, creed or political beliefs;

. . . where sun-drenched white and pink, tan and gray, pebbly and sandy beaches and native fishing villages dot the coastline;

. . . where the sun rises in splendor early at dawn and slowly recedes at evening fall like a ball of fire in waves of gold and crimson and purple, behind billows of gray and foamy white clouds;

. . . premier city of flowers, fruits, fish, “femmes” and of faith.

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