“FILIPINO” ARCHITECTURE: the Bahay Kubo or the Bahay na Bato? by Ernesto R. Zárate, FPIA WHENEVER SOMEONE ASKS ME, “What is Filipino architecture?” I toss the question back and ask, “What is American architecture? Or for that matter, Malaysian, Singaporean, or Indonesian architecture?” It is difficult to define and even more complex to try to explain. Sometime ago, some colleagues at Philippine Institute of Architects and I were asked to judge a hospital design contest among fourth year students of a certain architectural school. One of the requirements set by the professor in charge of formulating the rules was that “the design must present a Filipino character,” or something to that effect. Most of the students thought they had satisfied this requirement by adding some “Filipino” motif here and there like a balag, or a nipa hut shape somewhere in their designs. This made me squirm in pain. I personally feel that the bahay kubo and the balag are not intrinsically Filipino. These structures can be found in all of Austronesia from Hawaii to Madagascar in Africa. (Did you know that the inhabitants of the island of the Malagasy Republic are more Malayan than African? Even their language, Merina, is a distant cousin of Tagalog! But that is another matter.) PREHISTORY History books tell us that the first settlers in the islands were probably the Negritos who walked all the way from Africa over land bridges—the ice caps at the poles of the earth had not yet melted at that time. Anthropologists also say that these people lived in caves or fashioned simple lean-to sheds to protect themselves from the harsh elements. There were also Caucasians from the north who settled in the mountain regions we now call the Cordilleras. If you go to the mountainous areas of Taiwan, you will be surprised to find rice terraces quite similar to the ones found in Banawe and Mayaoyao. But most of the later settlers (300 t0 200 BC) came via the sea. Intrepid sea faring peoples of Malay-Polynesian descent traveled to our shores by means of balanggays, large sea-going boats capable of carrying up to 30 passengers. Mainly farmers and fishermen, they settled in sheltered bays, shorelines and riversides in the archipelago. The river was the main route for travel to the hinterlands in the interior. In these areas near the water, they built their shelters. With just a bolo and available materials nearby like nipa, yantok and bamboo, a small nipa hut can be constructed in just a few hours. The more intricate huts were actually woven—as one would a basket. THE BAHAY KUBO Despite its omnipresence in the country, the lowly bahay kubo (literally “cube house” because it is shaped like one) cannot be considered as the typical Filipino dwelling anymore. Even in the countryside, one can hardly find a TRUE bahay kubo nowadays—unless of course you go to a resort like a beach or some swimming cum picnic place, or outdoor restaurant with individual huts built for privacy. Its slow disappearance may be traced to several factors many of them rooted in its basic failing of impermanence. During the pre-colonial times, there was so much land for so few a populace that the easiest survival system for the early Filipinos was to slash/burn/plant. And when the soil would lose its fertility, they would abandon the place and move on to another. Oftentimes, the houses were left behind and families would build another in the new site. Or, these huts would be carried by several men to the new site as has been the subject of many a painting of rural scenery depicting the traditional Filipino custom called “bayanihan.” Not even when the people began to settle in communities and started to engage in communal activities like farming, raising animals, and of course, trade, did the early Filipinos bother to adopt a more permanent dwelling place. They were content with having just a one-room house without any partitions in which to sleep—to sleep on woven buri mats over slatted, “air conditioned” bamboo floors. The floors of these huts were raised about a meter to a meter-and-a-half from the ground away from the earth’s unhealthful moisture, vermin, worms, snakes and other harmful elements, aside from the fact that having a raised floor lessens the ill effects of seasonal floods and overflowing rivers. We must remember that most of these houses were beside waterways. In the course of time and as the eventual need arose, a small extension would be added in front of the house to serve as a porch where visitors could be entertained and perhaps another extension at the rear for a batalan and gilir area where food could be prepared and cooked. But basically the design of the bahay kuba remained unchanged for centuries. The use of nails simplified and thus speeded up construction of the nipa hut. More sophisticated walls were also devised like the use of vertically-split bamboo halves clasping each other and then clamped on both sides and on both ends by thick horizontal timber or by strips of split bamboo. Sawali, made of beaten bamboo and woven in a herringbone pattern soon replaced the nipa walls which were rough on the skin and were a haven for insects and vermin. If nipa was still employed, however, the interior surface of the walls (even the underside of the roof or ceiling) were veneered with interwoven anahaw leaves that created such beautiful patterns that one could not help but admire even if one were left home alone to “stare at empty walls”. It is the assembly of the steep thatched roof that still had to be undertaken with painstaking care and effort. After all, in the Philippines, then as now, one had to contend with two basic harsh weather conditions: the hot, dry season and the typhoon season. Because of these, there came a marked change in the choice of roofing materials. The deterioration of the natural leaves due to time and constant exposure to the elements forced most Filipinos to choose the ease of installation and proven dependability that corrugated galvanized iron sheets offer. The windows of the pre-colonial nipa huts were small. In fact they were even shut tight at night because of the belief of the proliferation of many night spirits that cause illness and aside from the security and privacy shut windows offer. Some windows were of the awning type and propped up by a removable pole, one end of which would rest on the windowsill. Other types were sliding, usually hung from an outside top rail. Even if the windows were closed, natural ventilation still wafted through the house because of the slatted floors. Superstitions, folk beliefs, divinations and ancient rituals abound in the construction of a nipa hut from the choice of the housesite, through the gathering of materials, preparation of these materials, installing them in the structure in the proper manner, and finally, in moving in to the newly-built house. For example, Bulakeños favor cutting bamboo for the construction of their houses at the end of summer, never during months of the year that have the letter “r” in them—Enero, Pebrero, Marso, Abril, Setyembre, Oktubre, Nobyembre and Disyembre. Actually, scientific tests have proven that during the months of May, June, July and August (the only months of the year without the letter “r”), just at the onset of the rainy season and during the period of typhoons, the bamboo produces less starch. This starch is what the weevils (called buk-bok)thrive on. Thus, bamboo harvested during this season is less likely to be infested with buk-bok. In Misamis, in northern Mindanao, the guests invited for the house “blessing” are enjoined at a certain point in the prayers to shake the house and stamp on the floor in the belief that the buk-bok would drop to the ground in the process and leave the structure free from the wood boring insects in the years to come. And these beliefs are just about buk-bok! Aside from being a cheap, easy-to-build temporary dwelling, the bahay kubo had, sad to say, nothing worthwhile to offer as proof to be considered a work of architecture. But although this lowly shack may not be endemic to our country (it can be found in the entire area this side of the Pacific Rim—even in Vietnam one could find ancient bas reliefs that showed images of similar structures), this humble house has somehow stayed on and endeared itself to the people. In many ways, too, the bahay kubo reflects the character and personality of the Filipino—from its diminutive size and Spartan simplicity, its unsophisticated humility, its seeming impermanence, and its strength against vicissitudes of nature like typhoons or earthquakes. In many ways, the bahay kubo IS the Filipino. THE BAHAY NA BATO Then came the Bahay na Bato, a typically “urban” dwelling that now had a semblance of culture although it humble beginnings was still the bahay kubo that grew in size with additional amenities and which had become the typical residence of the rich and influential. The needs of the owner and his social status require that he reside in a bigger house. To be sure, the Bahay na Bato evolved naturally from the bahay kubo. The bahay na bato’s lower or street level portion was built of stone or the volcanic tuff we know as adobe; the second floor was wood-framed. In other words, the upper floor was of light materials that rested on heavy, solid rock. As in the bahay kubo, the living quarters were all situated at the upper level with the street level portion relegated to some sort of garage for the family carromata and used as storage for bulky items like grains, etc. By means of an oversized stairway, the main receiving room or sala is reached. Beside the sala would be the comedor (dining room). The bedrooms were now partitioned off from one another. Outhouses and bathrooms were located near the back of the house somewhere near the kitchen. All the rooms had high ceilings to provide for more air circulation. The flooring of the upper level was usually made of thick slabs of hardwood like molave and/or narra. The ventanillas (literally meaning “small windows) under the window sills and the open lacework “transom” above partitions provided practical solutions to the problem of ventilation. In these under-the-sill vent openings, artistic wrought iron grillework or finely turned wood balusters were installed for security purposes. Windows were usually tall sliding panels of wood framed capiz shells capable of shutting out the typhoon winds but still bring in the needed light. They say we got this idea from the Japanese—the sliding windows, probably yes, but I believe the use of capiz shells is purely Filipino. Decorative motifs in the Bahay na Bato were as diverse as the regions where they were built and as varied as the many foreign artisans who contributed to its unique design and set the standards for its construction—Chinese, European, Latin American. Many aver that the Bahay na Bato may well be the best example of Filipino architecture. I tend to agree with them for several reasons. Let us examine this declaration carefully as well as scrutinize the structure itself to find out if there is truth in this statement. Although some writers claim that the Bahay na Bato is of Spanish origin. I believe it is not so for the simple reason that one cannot find any house similar to it anywhere in Spain. On the other hand, one may be able to detect some semblances of the Bahay na Bato with urban houses found in Central America. The Acapulco-Manila galleon trade which flourished during the latter part of the Spanish regime greatly influenced the lifestyle of the Filipinos including residential design and construction. We also share the same hot and humid tropical weather with Central America. Take these basic influences and mix them with an extra heavy dose of Filipino habits and customs and you’ll come up with the Bahay na Bato. NOT SPANISH ARCHITECTURE Former Intramuros Administration Architect Felix Imperial was a good friend from way back college days. I remember when, still fresh from college, he was commissioned by Fr. Augusto, O.P. to do the restoration work for the centuries-old Santuario de Sto. Cristo in the town of San Juan, Metro Manila. There were no restoration architects then so he was sent to Spain for a more authentic study. He was greatly disappointed. He discovered to his dismay that the methods of construction in Spain were completely different from that of the colonies. The best he could do was to refer to old plans for his project. The Dominicans could not afford another trip to Mexico for dear old Felix so he had to make do with the result of his paper research in Spain. In the early days of colonization, the Spaniards built houses the way they did in their homeland—out of solid rock. They ridiculed the way the Indios constructed their residences with light materials. After a series of earthquakes, however, where the Spanish-built houses crumbled to the ground while the natives’ lowly huts withstood the temblors and were proudly standing after the quakes, our European conquerors started re-thinking their construction methods. They deduced that it was the wooden posts that did the trick. From then on they utilized wooden posts to support the structure and restricted the use of brick and stone to the first floor. It may be of interest to note that the Spanish word “harigue” actually comes from the Tagalog and Cebuano word “haligi” (“adigi” in Ilocano, “harigi” in Bicol and in Samar-Leyte) which we all know as “wooden post.” A COURSE ON FILIPINO ARCHITECTURE More than fifty years ago, when we were just starting college, the curriculum of the course for one to earn the degree of Bachelor of Science in Architecture did not contain any subject about Asian architecture—much less about Philippine architecture. In the school where I studied, History of Architecture was taught by a grouchy old man who taught us about mastabas, Romanesque and Gothic churches, and about the “glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome.” In almost every lesson, we were made to copy from the blackboard his personal notes because there were no history textbooks available at that time. It must be recalled that it was then just ten years after World War II and the country was still reeling from the aftereffects of the global devastation. Maybe it was the lack of textbooks then that prevented our professors from teaching us about Filipino architecture. But then again many of them were stuck to the idea that the lowly nipa hut was its best example. To most of them, the bahay na bato was simply a novel creation of resourceful Filipinos not unlike the post-war jeepney—a bastard product of two cultures. Truth of the matter is, at that time, no one really was interested in researching on, much less writing about, Filipino architecture. No one really had the guts to stand up and say Filipino architecture exists. At the time when Le Corbusier, Richard Neutra, SOM and all the great architects then were espousing the grand ideas about “International Architecture,” why bother to bring out the mundane subject of Filipino Architecture? “Modern Architecture” was much the “in” thing then, and California type homes complete with walls fashioned out of Baguio stone and butterfly roofs were sprouting all over the new suburban landscape greatly influencing the students’ creative development with regards to architecture. At that time, in school, if you submitted a design that was “traditional,” you would most likely be treated with derision by your classmates and branded as old-fashioned. Such was the mindset of students then. It was only decades later when some brave young men and women, realizing that “Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi mararating ang paroroonan” started to question why no efforts were being made towards the study of our historical past, architecture in particular. Curiously, it was also about that time that the Hollywood blockbuster “Roots” made a deep impact on the citizenry. (Remember the film that traced the ancestry of many Black Americans?) Then Imelda Marcos started to rehabilitate her ancestral houses. The restoration of Intramuros was also initiated after the hundreds of thousands of squatters were ejected from the historical Walled City. Coffee table books on old houses and churches were published and sold like hotcakes. People started to realize that “A town with no old houses is like an old man without a memory.” The National Historical Commission (NHC) and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) were established to document, restore and safeguard these relics of the past no matter if these semi-government institutions were working with clipped wings and on miniscule budgets. THE NEEDS OF THE FILIPINO “…In the nature of Space is the spirit and the will to exist in a certain way… Design must closely follow that will… Therefore a striped painted horse is not a zebra.” (“A Statement” by Louis Khan, from Perspecta, 1965). Such beautiful words about the essence of architectural design coming from one of the masters of architecture. Following Khan’s precepts, we cannot help but choose the bahay na bato over the bahay kubo, to represent Filipino architecture. Its will to survive in the generations that have gone by cannot be questioned. Transplant the bahay na bato to a place anywhere else in the world and it won’t endure nor would it ever blend with the landscape. “…Before a railroad station is a building… It wants to be a street… It grows out of the need of a street… out of order of movement” Louis Khan in his treatise on design continues. There is no doubting about a structure’s existence or origin. It is the outgrowth of a certain need. Following that line of thought, Filipino architecture therefore, is what it is because of distinct Filipino needs which perhaps only the Filipino can understand or maybe even only he can appreciate. The individual, peculiar needs of a project have to be completely satisfied to achieve the correct design solution. No matter how foolish or idiotic they may seem, only Filipinos can accept their own idiosyncrasies. For example, only Filipino housewives insist in having a “dirty kitchen” where “dirty” chores like the slaughtering of the chicken or frying of the danggit can be done. The “clean kitchen” becomes some sort of “display kitchen” where an occasional breakfast prepared by the housewife is done and grandmother’s secret recipes are prepared. If the home lot has some extra space, many a would-be homeowner would also require the architect to provide a lily pool and grotto complete with a plaster of Paris image of the Virgin of Lourdes. But hardly does the family ever conduct prayers there nor is the place ever used for religious contemplation. The presence of the stoic statue of the Virgin does not even succeed in quieting down rowdy garden parties or preventing verdant green and irreverent conversation during pamorningan drinking bouts held beside it. If the master of the house loves to drink, a “bar” is an essential requirement in a residence, no matter how small, where empty bottles of Royal Salute or Chivas Regal (occasionally filled with tea) are displayed—even if what is being drunk is only gin-bulag, and on special occasions lambanog (with raisins, mind you) or just the plebian beer. On top of every Filipino water closet tank is a small plastic tabo. But that just goes to show how hygienic the Filipino is. After having practiced in Hong Kong for some time, Arch. Bong Recio had to adjust to Filipino requirements in the design of local office buildings by providing “kitchenettes”. To be strict about it, these are misnomers because no cooking is allowed in an office kitchenette. This is the area where employees are allowed to eat their baons and gossip during lunch breaks. The most frustrating of all Filipino idiosyncrasies for architects who take pride in their careful and fastidious study in his design of a residence with an attractive façade to impress the client through his colored perspective, is the fact that the owner insists on putting up a tall hollow block wall at the frontage of the lot. The architect’s creation thus is likened to a young woman of the Taliban whose beauty no one can ever set eyes upon. WHAT THEN IS “FILIPINO” ARCHITECTURE? If you ask then what my definition of Filipino architecture is, I will courageously venture to state: “The design of structures fit for the lifestyle of the Filipino whether it be made of glass and concrete, of wood and stone, or of nipa and bamboo—with all his peculiarities taken into consideration and applied in the design solution.” That is why, if I were ever made to design a Filipino delivery truck, I would make it a point to provide a footrest on the lid of the glove compartment! Many interesting little ingredients make up the big pie. And it is in knowing and appreciating these little ingredients that makes the eating of the pie more enjoyable. It is in knowing and appreciating the many little things in the development of Filipino architecture that we learn to appreciate its true value and thus take pride in it. ☺
Posted on: Wed, 05 Jun 2013 13:27:50 +0000
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