From our house on the foothills the blue mountain stood. It was seemingly quite
and eerie place where not a living soul seemed to bother. I thought that these
mountain peaks were racing upward to the clouds. It had no apparent purpose. It
was just there for the sun to hide and rest after a long day and to come out
the next morning to brighten my father's farm. This was my thinking when I was
little.
"Are there people up there?" I asked my father once.
"Yes," he explained. "They are native Manobos. They used to own land. The
government took it away and gave it to us."
He meant the homesteaders. They laboured hard to clear up the forest and turned
the land into productive farms. They were less concerned that along side
Taguibo was just sleeping. From the uncaring ways of loggers, the mountain was
disturbed and awakened the monster and since ravaged with unimaginable
destruction everything on its path. Taguibo River was on the loose.
Taguibo was a river that ran into our lives. It was part of our existence. The
untamed river meandered from up the mountain and into the lowland. It was life
giving water to inhabitants between the slopes and the sea. Little tributaries
in the area emptied into Taguibo. It was by itself a place for fun. It used to
be clean, wide, shallow and sandy which was ideal for recreational settings. I
recalled to have attended a number of public picnics at the river where fun
events were attended by almost all barrio folks.
The river was then a blessing. It always remained quite beautiful and harmless
where people enjoyed and wildlife roamed. The fish were abundant and the water
was pure. I grew up with it.
Then loggers with maniacal cruelty came and plundered the river source. The
mountain was cannibalized where trees and vegetation were wantonly molested.
The watershed was badly denuded that it can no longer maintain the ecological
balance in the region. The temper of the river changed. Unseasoned floods
rampantly devastated the lowland. The river which then was life giving grace
did become a curse to people living downstream.
One big flood occurred and the river changed its course. The road from km 9 to
Cabcabon did become the river itself. It put the area north of the feeder road
under water. People living in sitios like Botyok, Domoog and Manggabao fled and
didn't come back. These places today are no longer in the map.
Our only road to the highway was virtually impassable even by foot. Cabcabon
was not spared. It was isolated. The barrio proper was under water too. Only
three houses remained. One was where we lived. Our house was literally on the
riverbed.
The city had been trying to fix Taguibo. It all failed. The route of the river
was so changeable that a while after the city just gave up. The Taguibo Bridge
with all its shining girders was kind of funny looking structure in the middle
of nowhere. The river moved and the bridge had no river underneath. What was
really strange was that the toll house in km 12 continued to collect fees on
vehicles for a bridge that was no longer in used.
It took someone who was born and raised in the neighborhood to solve the
problem. Posoy Gonzales, the city engineer of the time did put all he could
muster to find a solution. He managed to tame the wild of the river which
caused so much anxiety and anguish to people for decades. The land which was
under water for about a generation did dry up. It was a very fertile land for
agriculture. Barrio folks that fled from the flood returned. The barrio
flourished to what it is today.
Farmers who knew the conduct of the river were relieved that the monster was
finally put back to sleep. The constant worry about unexpected flooding of
farmland was gone. It was business as usual again and pleasant living which was
marred by the river for quite a while was restored. The nightmare was over and
it was time to live quietly in peace.
Lately however, barrio people realize that the ordeal from the river is far
from over. It is beyond belief that again it poses to set off hazard to health
and wellbeing. Manufacturing plants, chicken poultries and pig barns wantonly
throw their waste product into the river. There are times when water in the
river turns green. It is no longer flooding that cause hardship to people. This
time around is the industrial pollution that brings in disease carrying flies,
rats and numerous parasites to devastate living condition of inhabitants in the
area.
Everything doesn't come well at all. Illegal logging and fly by night mining
operation in the watershed are poisoning the drinking water in the city. Butuan
has been an innocent victim from reckless undertaking from up the mountain by
way of the Agusan River. Maybe people just got used to it before that there was
no apparent collective action against it. It could also be the equitable
balance between money and health risk. It was indirectly affecting the food
chain and henceforth repercussion was gradual and inconspicuous. No one would
even know.
But drinking contaminated water is different. It's pretty obvious that
something up there isn't working right. In all my stay in Butuan, I only drank
once straight from the tap. It was not a good experience. Even bathing was a
problem. I did smell like a fish after my morning shower. It however cured my
constipation from long travel, but it somewhat went beyond that I have to take
Imodium pills after.
Taguibo was a menace to farmland then and today it poisons the population. It
is not a pretty picture at all.
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