Four Fugues in a Minor Key1. Iloilo funk: in search of the tamawo
They were angels before the Fall: fence-sitters, who refused to take sides. Because they were lukewarm, the Good Lord spat them out, or rather cast them down. Thus did they fall to earth, like so many heavenly turds. Though outwardly human, they remain fey folk, and are generally taller, more mestizo looking than you or I. The more observant will note their lack of a philtrum and fingerprints. But such minor imperfections have not deterred tamawo from winning beauty pageants, clinching business deals or getting passports.
Aunt Venus, a family friend, attributed her distinctively masculine dress and slickly parted bob to a tamawo. After World War II, or during Liberation as the old-timers call it, she was a comely bobbysoxe
