Kamoté

My family has three distinct ways
of eating kamoté.

All of which involves
boiling them until soft and tender.

All of which involves 
Peeling off their skins.

Each way briefly tells our history.

(Translation from Cebuano)

First, my father’s way.
He dips the sweet potato
in fermented anchovies.

He says this may be how
salty Lolo had felt
when he ran away
from his Chinese boss
and crossed from Cebu
to Mindanao
the land that hides
secrets and hope.

(Translation from Tagalog)

Second, my mother’s way.
Instead of dipping 
the sweet potato 
in fermented anchovies
she mixes it with sugar and Bear Brand
until it is as sweet 
as the day
when she met 
Papa in Baguio.

Thank you, Destiny.

Third, my Grandmother’s way. 
And while I would have loved
for this to be 
in my Lola’s Tongue,
the only Waray words I know are
ido, misay, yatot, kamoté
aso, pusa, daga, kamoté
iro, iring, ilaga, kamoté
dog, cat, rat, sweet potato. 

She mashes the sweet potato,
coconut milk, coconut meat, 
and sugar 
with a mortar and pestle.

As she pounds,
she gradually adds margarine.
If she feels fancy, butter.

When the sweet potato mixture 
turns into this dough-like texture, 
she handrolls them into balls
much like how she invites,
quite successfully,
the entire family together 
for Christmas and Easter Sunday. 
And then she flattens them gently with her open palm. 

The sweet potato, I mean. 

My family has three distinct ways 
of eating sweet potatoes. 
Sometimes it gets us tongue-tied. 
But whichever way we eat, 
whether savory or sweet, 

Sweet potato is sweet potato.

My family has three distinct ways 
of eating sweet potatoes. 

All of which involves 
boiling them until soft and tender.

All of which involves 
Peeling off their skins.

Each way briefly tells our history.

Una, my father’s way.
Iyang ginatuslob ang kamoté 
sa ginamos.

Matod niya ingon ani siguro 
kaparat ang nasinati ni Lolo 
niadtong midagan siya 
gikan sa iyang Intsik nga amo 
ug milayat gikan Sugbo 
ngadto sa Mindanao
ang yutang gatago’g
sikreto ug paglaom. 

Pangalawa, my mother’s way.
Imbis na isawsaw 
ang kamoté
sa bagoong
hinahaluan niya ng asukal at Bear Brand 
hanggang sa singtamis na ito 
ng araw 
kung kailan niya natagpuan 
si Papa sa Baguio. 

Salamat, Tadhana.

Pangatlo, my Lola’s way. 
And while I would have loved 
for this to be
in my Grandmother’s Tongue,
the only Waray words I know are 
ido, misay, yatot, kamoté
aso, pusa, daga, kamoté
iro, iring, ilaga, kamoté
dog, cat, rat, sweet potato. 

She mashes the kamoté, 
gata, lubi, 
and asukal 
with a lusong.

As she pounds, 
she gradually adds margarine. 
If she feels fancy, butter. 

When the kamoté mixture 
turns into this dough-like texture, 
she handrolls them into balls
much like how she invites,
quite successfully,
the entire family together 
for Christmas and Easter Sunday. 
And then she flattens them gently with her open palm 

The kamoté, I mean.

My family has three distinct ways  
of eating kamoté. 
Sometimes it gets us tongue-tied. 
But whichever way we eat. 
whether savory or sweet,

Kamoté is kamoté.

Mai Santillan (she/they) is a multilingual poet from Cagayan de Oro City, Philippines. She has been published in Filipino literary platforms such as Bisaya Magasin, Dagmay, Kabisdak, and Katitikan. She works as a freelance SEO writer and has five gorgeous cats to feed. Twitter: @maisunflowerday. 

Artwork by Garreth Chan