Sometime in March, at 1 o’clock in the morning, my friend Sharine and I suddenly found ourselves talking about Philippine textiles, a topic that we never touched on before. I shared with her that I have works of Magdalena Gamayo and the late Lang Dulay, and that I still had no idea what to do with them after several years in my possession. As we went on, the discussion only became more intense and alluring. Never did we imagine that the few exchanges we had would create an insatiable obsession that we clearly still hold today: a fascination towards handwoven Filipino weaves. A few days later, my friend introduced me to the works of yet another master weaver, Ambalang Ausalin.
Apuh Ambalang, as she is affectionately called in Basilan, is a Yakan master weaver of the highest order. She was born to a family of esteemed weavers and was taught by no less than her mother, Bariya Auhum. Some would say that the only person who could truly rival Ambalang’s precision, design sophistication, and quality was no other than Bariya herself.
The works of Ambalang were already renowned across Mindanao in the 80s, attracting the interest of countless prominent locals. Soon after, she found patrons in the likes of former Senator Loren Legarda, actor Robin Padilla, and even Vice President Leni Robredo, to name a few. In 2016, she was a recipient of the Philippine National Living Treasure Award, or the Gawad sa Manlilikha ng Bayan, in recognition to her mastery in tennun weaving and in her role in keeping the tradition alive.
She is known to be generous, welcoming, and family-oriented. One of her children commented, “While inah is nice and patient to us, she is so much more to her apos.” So, it did not surprise me anymore to learn that most of her grandchildren, as well as a few kids of neighbors, prefer staying in her abode. During the day, these kids are her youngest apprentices, eager to get a slice of their grandma’s talents. Most of them can now weave the basic bunga, forming table runners. In the evening, the kids provide Ambalang not just the company that an old woman needs, but also the inspiration that will again fuel her the following day.
She selflessly shares what she knows not only with her family, but with others in her community too; thus, securing the survival of tennun in the next generation of Yakans. In doing so, she has assisted many by giving them access to a sustainable, culturally meaningful source of income—something that the people in her province are grateful for.
At 78, Ambalang is still a weaving virtuoso, creating masterpieces that are hard to compete with. Her calloused thumb is but a witness to –as well as a record of– her dedication and her countless years in practice. When asked what her most beautiful work is, her family agrees that it is the colorful inalaman (body cover) bearing a hundred patterns which took her nearly two months to finish. It is then followed by her just as elaborate multi-eyed saputangan (headscarves), of which the finest takes almost the same amount of time to produce.
Contented now in life, the master weaver sees herself in her only daughter who is among a handful of weavers who can execute simple bunga and pinalantupan (overpants), as well as the more complicated saputangan, inalaman and inalu’an (fabric). Soon enough, the protégé’s level of craftmanship will be near, if not equal to, her mother’s. The passing down of knowledge from mother to daughter which Ambalang also had with her mother, therefore, continues.
Prior to receiving the attention she now has, however, Ambalang also went through a difficult phase in life. Raising her five children alone after the early demise of her husband was never easy. She even went abroad in the hopes of finding greener pastures, only to return to her hometown after being away for a little over a year. She painfully recalled that she could not bear being so far from her family, from home, from what is familiar.
At a time when there were extremely limited livelihood opportunities for women in Basilan, she found refuge around her threads and ever-dependable loom she inherited. When most women of her generation were abandoning tennun due to the lack of encouragement as well as the inability to profit from it, she held unto it with pride and optimism that one day the importance of the tradition would be understood again not only by Filipinos but by the whole of humanity. Such commitment surely paid off.
Another challenge, however, persists as the Philippine textile industry is being infiltrated by knockoff “handwoven indigenous fabrics” mass-produced in China. And tennun might become a target of counterfeiting too. While tenacity is asked from the weavers amidst this problem, alertness and the ability to discern which are authentic and which are not are expected from the buyers in return.
Overall, despite Apuh Ambalang’s social stature, she remains humble and deep-rooted. She lives a modest life while unpretentiously playing her gigantic role in preserving our rich culture. Basilan might be unfamiliar to most, and it might also stir images of conflicts and fear. Nevertheless, people like Ambalang offer us the essential light we all need at the end of the tunnel. Ambalang and I may not speak the same language, but her works never fail to eloquently speak her mind and heart. I can only be proud in having known her and in becoming a custodian to some of her masterworks.
For select works of Ambalang Ausalin and other Philippine master weavers, visit Orientalweaves.ph on Facebook and Instagram.
Photos used with permission of Elbert Bañares/Likha-an Documentaries