by Cris Cabasares
EDEN – There’s only one Eden – it’s nestled in the shadows of the imposing (8,152-feet) Mt. Talomo. It sits at an elevation of 3,000 feet.
This is an ancestral land; home to one of Davao’s ethnic people, the Bagobos, who love nature. They have cared for this land, hunted in the jungles around it, and chanted their prayers for generations. Those who lived within it tell of the time when – from the distance – one could hear the sounds of the agong ( a brass gong) that drifted from the foot of Mt. Talomo an up the slopes of the land where morning seemingly comes early.
Today, this village is home to a mix population of 2,400, mostly of Visayan origin, who came at various times to farm the fertile land.
(We live here part of the year. Our country home is about a kilometer over a rough road from the seat of the village. Before we came in to occupy the house some four years ago, we appealed to Father Felix Labor of Eden’s St. Michael Archangel church to bless it. He was kind enough to oblige. Our friend, Davao City jeweler Emilia Sitjar had suggested to have the house blessed before ever occupying it. Before the blessing rites, we brought in first into the house a sack of rice we bought from Valencia City in Bukidnon and a small can of Morton salt from San Francisco, California, to ensure, tradition says, abundance for those who would live in the house.)
Eden is 17 miles west of downtown Davao City, or 40 minutes away from SM City Davao mall in Matina.
The village ends at the western edge beyond the farmlands of purok Bombaran located just above barangay Catigan, while in its northern rim lies barangay Tagurano.
Mt. Talomo rises proudly like a timeless wall above Eden. Some days mists and fog veil its peak seemingly to hide it from our side of the village. In times past, villagers recall, tribes of wild boars and deer inhabited the lush forest underneath it. Widespread logging operations shortly after the end of World War II had nearly wiped them out, or may be it did.
Like morning, night also comes early in Eden. Be warned, the tableau of colors quickly disappears, only the memory of it remains.
Not all Dabawenyos know where exactly Eden is, although many know its a serene place above Toril where the climate is cool all year round. Still others know it only as the site of a popular resort.
The village is a cluster of mostly small houses alongside Eden Nature Park. Fronting it is the glass-walled St. Michael Catholic Church that’s perched atop a small hill that allows a sweeping view of the city below and Samal island. Across, the Eden Art Center draws visitors to view the works of Lambert “Obet” Acyatan, an award-winning artist who resides here.
A covered basketball court, a barangay hall, a day care center, and a barangay pharmacy take up the other side of the village. A little farther to the right is the property of a wealthy Cotabato businessman who passed away some two years ago.
Down the road is the Elias B. Lopez Memorial National High School, and still farther is a lonely stretch where a marker lodged by the side of the road reads “Children waving, please wave back.”
Villagers know each other, it really seems to me, almost every one’s whereabouts and business. It’s where no one keeps a nasty secret. They are polite, kind, helpful and hard-working.
Eden, villagers told us, had been an NPA hotbed in the 80s where communist rebels and government forces had engaged in several bloody clashes.
One drives steadily up through a winding road to reach Eden. When we first came here some four years ago, there were three portions of the road that were still unpaved. Today there’s still about a kilometer of rough road, unfortunately, that leads to our subdivision.
The road to here from the junction of Bayabas-Eden, more commonly known as the Bayabas Crossing starts from the Mercury Drug in Toril. From there it’s about 12.7 kilometer and winding and steady climb. The trip by car takes about 20 minutes. Pedicabs roar, groan, howl, backfire and sometimes overheat on their way up.
There are no regularly scheduled trips of jeepneys to this place, although there are occasional chartered passenger vehicles from Bayabas Crossing.
Thank goodness to the motorcycle! It has changed all that. The habal-habal is the principal means of transportation in and around these parts. ( A habal-habal is a motorcycle for hire with a load capacity of three or four passengers, depending on their weight and size. It could load up to five, excluding the driver, believe it or not.)
In the village, the morning calm often loses out to the spiny sounds of habal-habals revving up for the day. A habal- habal ride down to Toril costs P30, the ride up from there to Eden is P70 because it’s sak-onon (up hill) habal- habal drivers reason out. For the first time some four years ago my wife and I rode a habal-habal when we went to hear mass on our first Sunday here. The ride wasn’t that bad, but my wife swore never to ride on it again. I had no complaint, but I now recall that the driver needed a change in underarm deodorant.
Young men who own motorcycles earn a few pesos a day by ferrying villagers to Toril and back. They’re easy to find, they group themselves in front of the gate of Eden Nature Park to wait for passengers. In Toril, they assemble on a corner near the overcrowded market.
For a taxi ride to here, go across the street from the parking lot of Chowking in Toril, there’s a line of taxicabs waiting for each others’ turn to pick up passengers.
In the past, villagers traveled on foot to Toril for about three hours to buy a few food items. The walk back to Eden was even more challenging. When a person dies, villagers take turns in carrying the coffin for the long walk to Toril for the burial.
Before we bought our car, our neighbor in Mountain Haven, Nidz Kesar, drove us to church on Sundays, and every now and then she drove us to Toril to buy groceries. At other times we rented a van or hitched a ride when we went downtown to watch movies or shop. Most of the time our friend, lawyer Ben B. Baldoza, drove us to downtown and back.
When friends ask us where we live in Davao, we tell them “in God’s garden up the hill.”
Cris D. Kabasares writes a column for a New York newspaper.
