Baguio of my heart

WHEN the Spanish conquistador, Commandante de Galvey, first laid eyes on that
Benguet valley, he knelt in awe at the beauty surrounding him. The sun began to peep
shyly from behind blue mountains, turning them into golden ridges and smudging with
pink and peach and lavender the morning sky, swiftly turning into a brilliant blue dome
unmarred, save for a star, two stars, the crescent moon, all quickly fading. The mists that
shrouded the valley like a well-kept secret lifted suddenly, revealing lush swamps and
pine stands, interspersed with newly-planted rice fields turned shimmering silver sheets
by the morning sun. The cold morning air was soaked with the heady smell of pine.
Trinidad, the soldier on his knees muttered, remembering his wife. The fog lifting was so
reminiscent of the time she first lifted her veil in the quiet, scented church, and flashed
him a smile
Growing up in the 1970s in Benguets La Trinidad Valley, and in Baguio City a few
kilometers away, it was not difficult to imagine that this was how the valley got its name.
As a child, each day was a lesson in the bounty and majesty of nature: travel to school
was a 15- to 20-minute journey through a road that coiled its way between mountains,
fringed with pine trees, whose needles splintered the suns rays into shimmering droplets
of light. The mountains were tall and mysterious, and in the rainy season, a thick fog
shrouded the way home and sent the jeepneys crawling through the mountain pass with
only their headlights cutting a way through the white world. Summers burnt the mountain
grass brown and the sky the brightest shade of blue. But it was in the cold season when
the mountains burst aflame with colordotted with golden sunflowers and white
Benguet lilies.
Traveling downhill along Magsaysay Avenue, toward the intersection with Bokawkan
Road where a hideous flyover now stands, Quezon Hill was a dappled yellow mountain
of sunflowers abloom. And, at the stretch between Km. 4 and Bell church, the Balili
River flowed, first gently, then it gushing suddenly down three cascades. In the stormy
season, the waters here thundered.
Today that same portion of the river hardly exists. It struggles sluggishly, choked by silt,
and trash, oil from the motor repair shops surrounding it, and yes, human excrement:
Baguio City has only one sewerage system, and most city establishments tap their
sewerage lines instead into the drainage system, which flows into the Balili River. Balili
is now called the toilet bowl of Baguio City, and its waters, which swell during storms,
no longer swirl clear, but are murky and smell so strongly of shit.
IF I had known as a child what I learned later through study that the biodiversity of the
Cordillera ranges is not as rich as that of the lowlands (due mainly to the chemical
excreted by the endemic Benguet pine that kills its undergrowth), I would not have
believed it. Certainly, there were no jungles in my childhood, but everywhere I went, I
was still filled with the bounty of nature. Right beside our elementary school sprawled
the hospital grounds of the Notre Dame de Lourdes hospital, and into this secret garden
my classmates and I would creep at lunch break, clutching our baons. (Slow-paced
Baguio nursed a baon culture back then). There, we would eat and play amid the daisies,
carnations, lazy-eyed susans, golden rods and chrysanthemums planted so carefully by
the Belgian missionaries, careful to keep away from the bees. An abundance of bees and

butterflies swarmed around us as we dug holes in the dark earth with barbecue sticks to
search for bugs and earthworms, snails and spiders, that pollination and other secrets of
nature were never difficult for us to understand; these concepts merely captured the
realities around us.
And when we would tire of this spot, there were always many other places in the city: the
terraces bordering what was once the St. Louis Girls High School and overlooking
Assumption Road were not fenced then as they are now, and they always begged to be
climbed. The grounds of the Baguio Cathedral were vast and laid with trees and grassy
spots, and the site of the Porta Vaga mall today was then a wooded hill that beckoned to
us. And there were other places, too: Burnham Park, Sunshine Park and Camp John Hay
although that was reserved for the truly adventurous among us, and for longer
explorations on weekends.
MUCH of Baguios past natural beauty is alive only in my memory, and I am not an old
woman.
Towering pine stands and grassy hills have been chased away by the citys relentless
drive towards development, that these can only be found in pocketsin the parks, and
toward the now posh areas of South Drive, Baguio Country Club, John Hay, Mansion
House.
To build the citys biggest mall, ironically named SM Pines, some 250 century-old pine
trees had to be chopped down, and although Baguio people were opposed to this, both the
city government and the DENR granted a cutting permit to the developer.
Speaking of trees, Christmases of my childhood were heralded, not by the Christmas
decorations of malls and shops, but by the dressing and lighting up of two giant pine trees
that faced each other from the top and bottom of Session Road. But in an act just as
befuddled as his name, the former mayor Labo chopped off the century-old tree at
Sessions top and replaced it, ridiculously, with a cement tree, signaling the beginning of
the end for Baguio as I knew it.
Yes, there are still pine trees in the city today, but a close look will show them to be
choked and struggling. The Benguet pines trunk is a deep mahogany brown, and its
needles a brilliant emerald green, but tourists and visitors are apt to think that both trunk
and needles are a shade darker: the trees that remain in the citys center are blackened by
soot, both at their trunks and in their undernourished branches.
In the past three decades, too, the city has carried out a bizarre obsession with
constructiona house stands in almost every single parcel of Baguio land, many poorly
constructed, many erected even in geologically hazardous areas like the sinking Crystal
Cave lands. Overlapping land claims is the citys main legal problem, so much so, that if
the land areas contained in titles, tax declarations and other tenurial documents were
merely added up, the total land area would exceed by more than tenfold the actual land
area of Baguio. The mountains close to the city are beehives, with houses crowding each
other out, and, in poorer communities where the houses are shabbier paint a truly ghastly
sight. It is only with the merciful cover of darkness that the assault on the senses ceases.
As darkness falls, thousands of houses light up, and the lights twinkle in the
mountainsides like fireflies, igniting the memory of the Baguio that once was.

Bursting at the seams is how both local journalists and city officials have often
described Baguios overcrowding; although what the city government is actually doing to
address this pressing problem remains a mystery.
In the years that it took for me to grow into an adult, the population has quadrupled and is
still growing at double the countrys population growth rate. There were some 80,000
people in Baguio when I was growing up, today there are some 300,000, and in the next
five years, if things do not change drastically, there will be close to 400,000most of
these squeezed together in the main parts of the city that was build by the turn-of-the
century Americans for only 30,000.
And, if figures dont mean anything to you, consider the press of the crowds at the
market, along Magsaysay Road, or on the citys main road, Session.
With all these people squeezed into this city, the resources, too, are strained to their limit.
There is hardly any part of the city where water flows from the taps daily; water rationing
has been a part of the lives of Baguio denizens for the past 15 years, and in the summer,
taps are apt to be dry for weeks on end.
Both water delivery companies and developers vie with the Baguio water district and
built their own pumps. Unregulated, water pumps are springing up all over the city,
stressing the underground water sources. With squatter colonies invading Baguios few
remaining watersheds, a severe water crisis is just around the corner.
Open dumping and the burning of garbage, on top of the citys lack of a sewerage
systems, have caused the incidence of amoebiasis, typhoid and other water-borne diseases
especially among childrento spiral.
Traffic jamsunheard of in my childhoodare everyday Baguio occurrences today.
And, because most of the citys vehicles are diesel-burning trucks, jeepneys and secondhand cars, air pollution is a growing problem (that the city government first reacted to
with denial). The unique meteorological conditions in Baguio, where there are no sea
breezes to sweep away bad air, only worsen this.
Enjoy it while it lasts, my prophetic older brother said of the pine-scented air in one of
our early morning excursions to the top of a hill overlooking the city when I was near my
teens. And he pointed out to me a growing cloud of haze that hung over the city even
then.
He was right. Today, the scent of pine has been replaced by the persistent odor of diesel.
The city has lost much of its unique beauty. And with that loss has come the loss of its
soul.
THE Baguio City of my youth was really a slow and reflective town where people knew
each other and went about leisurely with their lives. Today, with the traffic and the
crowds, time itself seems to have sped up. But as a child, there always seemed to be so
much time, a one-hour lunch break was an eternity of time to play.
The slow pace of life, the cool climate and the gentleness of the terrain (compared to the
harsher and steeper landscapes of the provinces further north and deeper into the
Cordillera ranges) spawned, I believe, a quiet, unassuming and reflective people, who are
by and large, peaceful.
The Ibaloi people, the original inhabitants of Kafagwaythat turn-of-the-century
rancheria of about 20 houses on which Baguio City now standsare known, even until
now, to be reticent and peace-loving. Even the early Ilocano and Kankanaey settlers to

the city adopted this quiet nature. Living amid bounty and beauty, the Baguio people
seemed to know their humble place in this awesome universe.
BUT perhaps it is this very timidity of its people that has caused the city its undoing.
The Ibalois are known to be the most accommodating among the Cordilleran tribes, and
the least willing to go to war over their land and resources (unlike tribes along Chico
river who stopped their river from being dammed in the 1980s) .
This openness was good in some ways: it allowed the blending of American heritage,
Cordillera and Ilocano cultures into a distinct Baguio culture. But in other ways, timidity
spelled disaster for the Ibaloitheir history is fraught with displacement: American
mining companies established a the turn of the 20th century brought roads and jobs, but
when Benguet Corporation closed down in the 1990s, the Ibaloi and Kankanaey miners
were the first to lose their jobs and their lands were left scarred. The Ibalois of Bokod
sacrificed their rice fields to the rising waters of the Ambuklao Dam to help light the
nation, but this caused them to scatter to hostile homesteads in Palawan, where they
were assaulted by the heat, the unfamiliar lowland jungle and malaria mosquitos, or in
Nueva Viscaya, where they lived in fear of their more war-like neighbors.
Baguio City itself has ceased to be the home of the Ibaloi people. The only city in the
Cordillera region, it has drawn in the past 50 years, migrants from all Cordilleran
provinces, and the lowland provinces of Pangasinan and La Union, forcing the solitudeseeking Ibalois out of its center. As a friend of mine from Mountain Province observed,
sa gilid-gilid na lang ng Baguio and mga Ibaloi.
Now that Baguio has lost its original caretakers, who will be concerned over stewarding
the land citys development?
The Baguio Ibalois were completely dispossessed of their lands in the city well before the
1970s, however. But at least the city was developing in a way that was not as rapidor
unrulyas today.
Like today, the different Cordilleran tribes, often warring in their own home provinces,
existed side-by-side in the Baguio of the 1970s. But unlike today where they choose to
live apart in clusters and keep their home traditions, most Baguio residents then
whether Ibaloi, Kankanaey, Ilocano or even Baguio-Chinesewere molded into that
distinct Benguet cowboy culture with commonly certain values like hard work, simplicity
and peacefulness.
The slow pace of life now only bred a reflective culture, but fashioned a closely-knit
community.
There was always much time to connect with each other: Early mornings were for the
citys older men, dapper in their 1950s suits and bowler hats, impeccably groomed with
pomade and shoe shine, who would take their place at the Star Caf, Session Caf (long
burned down), or Dainty Restaurant, those quaint Tsinoy restaurants that once lined
Session Roadto discuss the happenings in and the fate of their community over
Benguet coffee or Lipton tea, served in thick glasses.
(With the loss of their old spaces, the old men have taken to holding their morning
sessions at McDonalds Session Road, looking out-of-place as they drink coffee from
styrofoam cups.)
Bonding for the younger men happened at night. Bundled against the cold with leather
jackets, denims, scarves, mufflers and bonnets, the younger men met at folk houses like

Fireplace or Cosy Nook, where folk and country music were staples. (There was only one
disco at the Hyatt Terraces Baguio, and this was patronized mainly by tourists). The
women in cardigans and knitted shawls made fellowship as they stitched, knitted or
croqueted and waited for their children to come out of school (for Baguio of old was
never a yaya culture).
The days back then strolled at the leisurely pace, and at 6:00 p.m., even came to a
complete stop. A siren would go off, and everyone would stop to listen to Bachs Yesu
Joy of Mans Desiring, followed by the Angelusall played on a loud speaker from the
Baguio Cathedral and over the citys only radio station.
Cars would stop in the middle of the road, children would stop their play, cash registers
would stop clinking, office workers would stop walking home, the entire city would grind
to a halt.
Perhaps this was the secret of Baguios charm in the olden days. After the July 1990
earthquake, an obsessive rush to rebuilt the devastated city ensued, led to what old
residents say was its rabid development. It was also in this hurry that the angelus
tradition was lost.
For yes, Baguio City was once soulful: That Baguio people of old chose to stop for a few
minutes every single day to reflect or pray must be the reason why Baguio was such a
soulful city then. And consequently, a humane one.
I HAVE never taken a look at the income distribution patterns of Baguio residents
through the years, and while there must have been inequalities back then, they were not
as glaring as they are today, or they were even then in other cities of the world.
At the private school I went to for elementary, my classmates were a cab drivers
daughter, market vendors children, and the daughter of the wealthy Japanese-Ibaloi
business family, the Hamadas, who earned their millions from running the citys only
newspaper for decades. Still, at inter-school matches, we were often beaten by the kids at
Lucban Elementary School, Baguio Central School, or any of the other public schools in
the city. Baguio then was imbued with a general spirit of equality, where life wasnt too
hard if one was willing to work hard.
There have always been old Igorot men and women begging in the city streets, but, as
most Baguio people know, they are not landless back home or homeless even in the city.
Everyone back then, it seemed, had a home and a decent means to make a living, that the
student prostitution that makes Baguio universities famous today was truly
uncharacteristic back then.
But as I grew, so did the number of families living on the street (mostly Badjao families
or families from other parts of war-torn Mindanao) and the ranks of crazy people left to
fend for themselves.
Working children have always been a part of the Cordilleran life, and even back then
there were kids who sold newspapers in the morning, sold vegetables at the market at
night, or worked as shoe-shine boys. But more often than not, they were able to finish
school and to eat three square meals a day.
That Baguio was less stratified then is most clearly seen in the changing use of its public
spaces, which were once open to both rich and poor.

Now, as the city commercializes rapidly, public spaces are the first to draw the lines
between the haves and have-nots, with Camp John Hay one site now snatched away from
the humble.
As children, my classmates and I would often spend weekends at John Hays White Trail,
going in and out of the camp with ease. Lowly government employees and school
teachers took their families on picnics on the John Hay grounds, and young lovers found
secluded places to smooch.
Today, only high-end tourists (John Hay Manor charges some P3,000. a night for a single
or double room) and government officials frequent the camps golf course, and even the
picnic tables are for rent.
Jobs have not been able to keep pace with the rapidly growing numbers of people, so the
numbers of hawkers, vendors and people in Baguios informal sector have swollen. But
there is only so much one can sell in a limited economy. So the army of undernourished
children has also swollen, and so too that of out-of-school youths, tambays, drunks and
petty thieves.
Baguio, I swear, used to be a safe place when I was a child. Sure, there were youthful
gangs like the Pantranco and Bangkahan gangs who fought their petty marijuana wars
back then, but they generally kept to themselves and kept the women and children out of
their conflicts.
Today, petty crimes are in an all-time high (however the city police would like to deny
this), and they spare no one. This year alone, my daughter and I, who live alone in
Baguio, have endured three near-break ins into our sparsely-furnished apartment found in
the poorer quarters of the city.
Shabu use in Baguio has grown over the years, and a recent study even claimed that the
majority of students to flock to this university town have tried it.
Worse, violent crimes now exist in this city. One early evening early this year, a man was
shot in the head at Burnham Park, in full view of parkgoers. Weeks after, the body of
another dead man was found at that same park. And that same month, another body was
found behind a popular university. A few weeks back, two women tourists were hogtied
to flammable mattresses and burned to death in their condotel close to Teachers Camp
the worse crime so far that has happened in the citys recent history. The safe and sane
city of my childhood is truly gone.
Bursting at the seams, with its social fabric ripped apart and its charm quickly fading,
there seems to be hope only for the citys rabid developers.
Recently, I glimpsed a market study that read: Immigration to Baguio makes the
population zoom up, and based on survey, the current mortality rate is around 1,800 per
annum, which increases by 10% to 20% yearly. This and the lack of burial sites gave
____Development Corporation the idea of a memorial park in the scenic spot of
Loakan
Indeed. If the developers had their way, Baguio would soon be a beautiful and reflective
city for the dead.
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