Whenever I hear news of heavy rain during the night, I right away think back to many instances in the past where I was a witness to flooding after such downpour. In Manila during the late 70s, the two places I stayed in during the singing years always took home first and second prize, if they handed out ‘most easily flooded areas’ during the time.
In one of those places, which we hide under the name Quiapo, we were so in sync with the crowd there, my singing partner had special sandals made by our local shoemaker, with thick soles carved from tractor tires which he claimed as all-weather. For gear, we crossed the bridge to Raon, where we could buy second-hand US army ponchos, typical 70s wear during typhoons, at least among the folksingers back then.
Many a time, I would hear about how it was back then when the then-proclaimed city of man was still provincial, in comparison to other least developed centers. Old-timers say, true, it had flooding in many low-lying areas too, but that was mostly because of inadequate planning and sewerage, resulting from a mad rush to development in the early days.
“…it looks like rain, I feel it coming in, the mountains win again”.
Back here in Davao, I remember during the late 60s, my mother had brought us to visit a piece of land they had purchased in Bajada. It sat on the crest of a small hill of what is now called Belisario Heights. In order to maneuver one’s way to the lush hill top, one had to either ride on sturdy Willy’s jeeps (or ‘owners’ as the old folks call it), or via “kangga”, those carabao-led carts one sees in the hinterlands which are used for farm work. At the time, the road leading up was no more than a mountain trail, and as I recall, at the top was where only a few families settled.
A few meters further ahead, the land sloped downward and somewhere in the area which is now Belisario and Hillside Subdivisions, we were still able to dip in a fair-sized creek.
Someone who had accompanied us told us that back then, within these areas which stretched beyond what we know now as the Diversion Road, forest animals still dwelled. It included wild ducks (which the Times man, our family friend hunted with his 22 rifle), crocs and wild boar.
Many years after when our family permanently moved there, I would regularly follow my grandfather down a back trail while he visited his other daughter, my aunt who lived in Diamond Village. It was only at this time that I realized, that between us and my aunt’s residence, the forested area had already been cleared and turned into a subdivision. One lasting recollection of my first treks through there was the sight of newly-paved streets which were still empty of houses. The wide stretch seemed like a cement jungle and it had evidently replaced my early images of the real forest that once thrived here.
The I remember wondering, in what specific part of that vast development before me lay the original creek and watering hole of our childhood?
As subtly as it could at first, whenever it rained in that part of the city, water began to seek its own level and slowly crept downward until it flooded the main road leading to the highway near the Carmel monastery. The almost neck-deep waters eventually drained into the swampy area nearby behind the old office of what is now (ironically) the water district.
So now, whenever there’s a heavy rain, be it in Davao or Manila and elsewhere, I’m thinking of the song by Blues Traveler, the mountains win again.
