Early on a Sunday morning, my doorbell rang. Not expecting any packages that day, I was curious to see who it was. Upon opening the door, I found out it was a thin man, advanced in his years. He was asking if I had any solehiya furniture that needed repair.
He was no stranger, though. It was Romilo “Kuya Meng” Rufino, a 62-year-old, life-long solehiyador. My Dad had spotted him working on solehiya furniture by the side of the road some years back. At that time, we had just inherited a couple of pieces. While they were beautiful, the solehiya had already come undone from years of storage. It was quite fortunate to find craftsmen who still knew the trade.
A Filipino tradition
Solehiya, which comes from a Spanish term for weaving, was a staple of traditional Filipino furniture. In lieu of leather, cushions, or pillows, solehiya’s unique basket weave provided just the right amount of cushioning, while its open design still allowed for excellent ventilation.
These pieces are often made out of hard woods like Narra, Mahogany, and Acacia. Holes for the fibers are drilled along the frame in order to weave the fibers through to create the solehiya cushioning. Made of yantok fibers and secured with bamboo pegs, the functional and decorative solution was quite cheap and easy to source, but time-consuming to create.
When done right, solehiya cushioning can support the weight of even the heaviest individuals, while still returning just enough give to be comfortable. It’s quite strong and relatively easy to maintain too as the yantok can be left out in the sun, however, is prone to warping if left in the rain.
Solehiya was a very common trade in the Philippines early in the last century. However, with the arrival of new materials like fabrics and even plastics, the time-consuming furniture craft steadily fell out of favor among homeowners. Hardwoods have also become rarer and dearer over time, while newer and more modern designs could be bought for less, requiring even less maintenance than solehiya.
Kuya Meng and his father were the only solehiyadors willing to take on the daunting task of reupholstering our Mariposa Sofa. It was so named because its backrest was shaped like a butterfly and could comfortably seat three. Its unique shape also required the crafting of a one-piece, curved, butterfly-shaped solehiya cushion. Unlike most solehiya crafted from a flat, square pattern, the curves in this seat required quite advanced skills, which the father and son tandem thankfully possessed. It took nearly a week for the pair, but to this day, 15 years after, that sofa still proudly stands as a testament of their excellent work.
A vanishing trade
Thankfully, I just so happened to have a chair that needed repair. Its weave was ripped by a stray cat and needed to be redone. Kuya Meng took one look at it and assured me it would be quick work, needing just a bundle of yantok and an afternoon.
Kuya Meng is a third-generation solehiyador. His grandfather learned it while being rehabilitated at the Iwahig Penal Colony in Puerto Prinsesa, Palawan. With few other prospects after being convicted, his grandfather pursued it as a career. It was then taught to his father, who then taught it to Kuya Meng when he was just 12 years-old.
At the time, Kuya Meng was still studying, but because there was plenty of work, he decided to help his father to support the studies of his two siblings. They went on to finish college and pursued other careers.
“Puro solehiya pa nun, (All the furniture was solehiya then),” he shares. “Wala pang monoblock o upholstery, (There wasn’t much upholstery or plastic chairs)”
He recalls one of his most regular clients was the Sanvictores family, of Max’s Fried Chicken fame, pointing toward the very first branch just a few streets away. The family ancestral home was quite conveniently in front of the restaurant.
Since then, the work has steadily declined. As other forms of furniture began to be readily available, solehiya began to fall out of favor. He laments that many families don’t bother to maintain these classic pieces as the repair is the hardest part, especially nowadays with fewer craftsmen like him.
Konti na lang may ganito, yung mga nag-mana na lang. Siyempre, ayaw nilang itapon dahil may sentimental value. Galing sa tatay ko ito, galing sa lolo. (Few still have these kinds of furniture, only those that have inherited it. They keep it because it has sentimental value. It came from their father or grandfather).
Door to door
Nonetheless, he continues to persevere. Each day, he heads out to various neighborhoods, knocking on doors and asking residents if they have any solehiya furniture that needs repair.
As opposed to working for a shop, he prefers to go around and work in front of people’s homes. Despite my insistence that he work inside and in the shade, he opted to work out in the sidewalk.
“Mahina na po mata ko. Mas maliwanag dito sa labas. Tsaka para makita din ng mga dumadaan ang gawa ko. Magtatanong ang mga yan kung gumagawa ako.” (My vision is not what it used to be. It’s brighter here outside. And those driving by can see my work and ask me if I can repair their furniture.)
A freelancer at heart, he prefers to go directly to clients to get a better price his work, as opposed to working for a budget that a furniture repair shop sets for him.
Even this way, it has been challenging to make a living. The price of material has gone up and become more scarce.
Dati, ang yantok kilo-kilo ang bilihin niyan. Ngayon bundle na lang. Tsaka maraming klase dati, may uno, dos, tres ang kapal. Ngayon, dos at tres. Itong silya niyo sir, uno dapat ito, pero magagawan naman ng paraan sa dos.
(Before, yantok was bought by the kilo. Now, it’s sold by the bundle. And there were many kinds of thickness before, called 1, 2, 3 and so on. Now it’s just 2, and 3. Your chair actually needs a ‘1’ but we can make it work with a ‘2’.)
Despite this, he makes do with rather simple materials. All he needs is a bundle of yantok, some sticks of bamboo, wooden pegs, wax from a candle to grease the fibers, a blade, and a hammer. Despite his age, his dexterity is still quite amazing, expertly and swiftly needling fibers in between other fibers and slowly forming the distinctive basketweave over time.
The future
Within his family, he has no one to pass on the trade to. His siblings have taken up other, more profitable jobs.
He has two children. However, he didn’t have the heart to pass the craft to his eldest daughter, wanting a better life for her. His second, a son, has special needs and cannot learn the craft.
He’s had a few apprentices in the past. He shares it’s not that hard to learn the skill. What’s often missing is the dedication to the craft. He’s only had one apprentice that has successfully pursued the craft. Others observed him for a few days and quickly gave it up.
Upon uploading a picture of him at work on my social media, along with his cell number, he soon got a few more inquiries from friends of mine. He was quite thankful, sharing he’s not quite technically inclined enough to advertise his services on the net.
Nonetheless, he’s quite content with his way of life, wishing only to have continuous work.
“Nakasanayan ko na itong buhay. Pag-gising ko sa umaga, pagkatapos mag-laba, ikot-ikot na ako sa mga vilalge, katok katok. Tatanong ko kung may ipapagawa silang solehiya. Kung makagawa ako ng isang silya maghapon, ok na yan. (I’ve gotten used to this life. When I wake up in the morning, after I wash clothes, I head out and knock on doors. I ask if they have any furniture that needs repair. If I can work on a chair each afternoon, I’m happy with that.).
By this time, he had finished the chair, proudly slapping the cushion to show off its durability. I’m glad I can now sit on it with my daughter and share stories with her, just as my grandmother did with me. My grandmother’s memory will continue to live on, thanks to the rare work of Kuya Meng, which I hope will continue to live on as well.
If you're in need of Kuya Meng 's services, contact him at: 09771934799