CAGAYAN DE ORO CITY—We were rediscovering the river in our midst, until the recent violent turn of the tides gave us reason to pause.

Over the past three years, not just one but two floating restaurants have wooed adventurous diners. River taxis, which can be booked through the Safer River, Life Saver Foundation at the Liceo de Cagayan University, offered breathtaking, 45-minute tours from behind the San Agustin Cathedral to the mouth of the Macajalar Bay and back.

Even President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo once experienced the thrill of white-water rafting in the upper reaches of the Cagayan de Oro River.

Mayor Constantino Jaraula last year unveiled a plan to “rehabilitate” the river, a grand blueprint that envisions a riverside pedestrian boulevard to be called “the Golden Mile,” and “intelligent” fountains right in the middle of the river a stone’s throw from City Hall.

And so two Sundays ago, a family decided to celebrate a personal milestone at Reyna del Rio, the floating restaurant berthed behind the City Tourism Hall. It was raining a bit, but they couldn’t care less—they wanted to have a good time.

Before they knew it, the rain became a downpour, the cool breeze turned into a windy affront, and the river swelled and swirled, breaching the banks and rushing headlong into the comfort zones of a city that has usually been spared the vagaries of bad weather.

The rampaging waves tore down the wharf where the floating restaurant was docked, and the celebrating family, along with the waiters and the cooks, had to jump into the river and swim back to safety. Reyna del Rio eventually sank.

The deltaic Isla de Oro was a horror story all its own: it became Waterworld. I saw people from the islet climb trees for dear life. Children clung to banana trunks floating in the deluge. Babies were sent off to safety on plastic washbasins, like modern-day Baby Moseses escaping the bad fates. Entire families stared in silence and surveyed the devastation from the windows of their huts on stilts, only you could no longer see the stilts.

In one barangay (village), the flood came too quickly for people at a funeral wake: The coffin got swept away by the rushing waters and smashed against a clump of trees. The body, thankfully, was later recovered and given another coffin—courtesy, I heard, of the same funeral parlor.

There was also the story of a mother of twins who, on their way to higher ground, lost hold of one of the children. The unfortunate twin has yet to be found.

Birth of a village

The disaster victimized not just the poor. A young Chinese-Filipino couple with a thriving business had quite a scare: They saw their wood parquet flooring pop out one tile after another, like in a horror movie, followed by the onrush of murky floodwater that inundated the first floor of their otherwise well-appointed home.

Around 1626, a lifetime after Magellan came to our shores, Datu Salangsang and the Recollect missionaries chose the river bend as the spot where they would establish the village of Cagayan.

But before the arrival of the Spaniards, Datu Salangsang’s village was located eight kilometers upriver, on a rocky promontory called Himologan, which had a commanding view of the Cagayan river valley.

Upon the advice of his aunt from Butuan, the Higa-onon datu decided to help the Spanish missionaries found a village. There, at the river bend that they chose, a church, a military fort and a village hall were constructed.

The first street to take shape was Calle de la Iglesia (now called Burgos Street), which once began straight out of the church door. Today, the street no longer originates from the church but it still skims through the river on its way downstream.

The street was the address of choice for many prominent families at the time. Most of their houses then had balconies that opened to the river. The river, after all, was the main route to the village. To reach the village, you had to maneuver your banca upstream.

River’s offerings

The river thus served as a busy highway that linked the coastal villages and the highland tribes. It led straight to the mountains and on to Central Mindanao.

From their balconies, the early Kagay-anons appreciated the river for all that it offered: a variety of fish to eat; water for drinking, bathing, and laundry; irrigation and recreational activities from picnics, leisurely swims, to boat races.

By 1875, the city grid extended only up to what is now Yacapin Street. The poblacion (town proper) was mainly centered on three structures—the San Agustin Cathedral, City Hall, and Gaston Park. Still, the river was the best way for visitors to enter town.

It was only in 1894 that the first bridge was built over the river: Carmen Bridge, right beside the cathedral. Seven years later, the first cars rolled into Cagayan. More streets were soon built, including road networks linking the town to the rest of Mindanao.

The main route to the city shifted from river to road around 1901.

Switching doors

As a result of this “urbanization,” the well-appointed houses beside the river switched their main entrance from the riverside balconies to doorways facing the street. They turned their back on the river.

Dr. Eric Casiño, a Kagay-anon who is now an anthropologist connected with the East-West Center in Hawaii, said this ushered in a new way of thinking about the river.

The river, being at the back of the house, became the “palikuran,” Casiño said in a study tracing the urban history of Cagayan de Oro. People began to build their outhouses by the riverbank. It became the repository of everyone's trash: You throw your leavings there.

Such a mind-set has persisted to this day. And the recent flood makes us reflect on this sorry state of affairs.

The river was the reason why Cagayan de Oro was established in the first place. The river gave birth to all that we Kagay-anons are: The river it was from which sprang the lifescapes of all our unfolding.

Even before the Spanish missionaries set foot on what eventually became known as Cagayan de Oro, our ancestors were already forging a community of farmers, fishermen, traders, healers, artists, warriors and leaders in the upper reaches of the river under the stewardship of Datu Salangsang.

The river brought them together and offered the basic necessities of life, even as it provided the ancient pathways for commerce and culture, ideas and values.

Lesson remains

Thus did the river thrive in our collective imagination, teeming with myth and legend that people our dreams and desires. As the river swims in our collective unconscious through the passing of the centuries, the singular lesson remains: This blessing cannot be taken for granted.

The source of our community life is also the source of our undoing: It makes us account for our neglect and irresponsibility.

The flash flood in the river these past few days is unlike the great flood in 1916 and the mid-’50s because it has made Kagay-anons take a pause and, in solidarity, rediscover pathways toward a better city, climate change notwithstanding.

We are just beginning anew. Yet again.