By Willie Jose
When we think about our Filipino culture, many things come to mind: Bahay Kubo, Tinikling, Kundiman, Kalesa, Jeepneys, Singkil, Fiesta, Parol, Baro’t Saya, Barong Tagalog, Balikbayan Box– and the handy Tabo.
Of all these cultural icons, tabo is doubtless an indispensable fixture of the culture. And whether we are working abroad, living as immigrants, or have acquired citizenship in foreign lands, the tabo in our homes is a good measure of whether we’ve remained Pinoys at heart.
We use tabo as a hygiene tool for cleaning the bums; it’s also used for bathing and hand washing. The toilet paper is not enough to completely clean ourselves after using the toilet; the tabo is a much preferable option.
One day, when I was at the Cederbrae mall in Toronto, I had a chance to chat with a couple and out of the blue, our little talk veered towards tabo’s usefulness. The woman told me that aside from the toilet paper, she has to use tabo to clean her private parts, and “I feel so uneasy if I don’t use my tabo; I feel something is left there. “
If we want to identify our kababayans living abroad, we simply have to look around for their tabo in their bathroom.
However, many Pinoys would rather not talk about it openly, especially if they are at the table eating or when they are with foreign friends, because tabo’s rightful place today is supposed to be only in the toilet. And these days, people avoid even mentioning the word “toilet”; instead, they prefer to say “washroom,” “bathroom,” or “powder room.”
Recently, some of my friends went on a short vacation to New York, and before they left Toronto, I sent them a message on Facebook asking if they were taking their tabo with them.
I was thinking all the while that I might elicit some responses from them, because a close friend who was going with them had once told me that even on her foreign trips, she made sure her tabo was always with her.
But when my wife read the message, she said,” It’s too personal naman”. On hearing my wife’s comment, I immediately sent a sorry note, telling them “I’m writing at present an article about tabo “
When my family and I visited my brother in North Carolina last month, I was really impressed by the beauty and the simplicity of his home. One time I went to their washroom, and I couldn’t find the tabo. Looking around their all-white washroom with stainless showers and pipes, I wondered if they had totally forgotten about our tabo culture, totally absorbing the American style of living?
But to my surprise, I found a small tabo lying in the little corner of their bathtub.
With this kind of culture, I would say that we are the cleanest people in the world because the toilet paper is not enough for us to clean our bums.
In some way, we are helping to green the environment; less consumption of toilet paper or baby wipes means fewer trees are being cut down.
Our kababayans abroad are not easily enticed to buy rolls of toilet paper, though they are on sale at supermarkets; why would they buy these toilet papers if using plain water plus a tabo could mean big savings for them?
For foreigners planning to visit the Philippines, they must learn how to use it because even in hotels, pension houses, and resorts where they’re staying, the tabo is a regular fixture in the bathrooms. And if they’re going into mountain climbing or visiting the countryside, they cannot expect to see rolls of toilet paper in these places; the tabo is the only option they have when the call of nature hits them.
These tabo are sold in the malls, markets, and even on the sidewalks.
Even during the country’s colonial period, tabo could be found beside a water jar near the house door; it was used primarily to wash the guests’ hands and feet before entering the house.
Even these days, tabo is still popular back home; it has many uses: for washing the dishes, cleaning hands and body, and taking a bath —and that’s why we have been so attached to it all our lives.
Despite the amenities of modern bathrooms—Jacuzzi, stainless shower and faucet, minibar, towel rail —we make sure the tabo is always within our reach somewhere in the bathroom.
Culture is culture, so whatever status in life we’ve reached, whatever lifestyle we’re now enjoying, our tabo will always be a part of us.
It will always be a part of our daily routine: working, eating, sleeping, and emptying “uh”—and then, we say, “where’s the tabo?”
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Willie Jose is a freelance journalist, and his past experience includes serving as a reporter for the Bluffs Monitor, a copy editor for the Times Journal, and, now, a columnist for Balita, a community newspaper in Toronto. He’s an alumnus of the Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila. He has recently written a book—Iskolar ng Bayan—published by Amazon.
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