By Henrylito D. Tacio

Salinta Monon- the last Bagobo weaver.

SHE has been featured in a national television advertisement, has rubbed elbows with dignitaries like then President Fidel V. Ramos, traveled to the United States and had been written about in publications abroad.

But weaver Salinta B. Monon, one of the two Manlilikha ng Bayan awardees of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCAA) in 1998, is a "nobody" in her hometown in Bansalan, Davao del Sur.

"Ask anyone from Bansalan, and their reply would be, 'Salinta, who?'" Bansalan councilor Lord L. Espina said.

Cristina Cristal, a campus journalist who once had the pleasure of meeting "the national living treasure," summed up Espina's observation: "There has been no sufficient townwide information drive to drum up the cultural significance of Salinta's handicraft. The plaque of recognition given to her by the municipal government during the town anniversary program in 1998 did little to enhance awareness on this great cultural find that is Salinta."

But Salinta, who lives in the mountain barangay of Bitaug, does not mind. What concerns her most is how to pass on what she has learned from her mother, Saray Bara. "If someone wants to learn, then I am willing to teach," she says.

Salinta was still a little girl when she had watched her mother's nimble hands glide over the loom, weaving traditional Bagobo textile using fragile abaca fibers. At 12, she presented herself to her mother to be taught how to weave. Her ardent desire to excel in the art of her ancestors enabled her to learn quickly.

Salinta developed a keen eye for the traditional designs. In fact, Agton Monon - who was a farmer - had to pay Datu Bansalan Barra a higher bride price for her because of her weaving skills.

Salinta and Agton tied the nuptial knot on July 4, 1946. They have five children: only daughter Roda and sons Sayko, Elias, Marciano, and Danilo. But after her husband died in the early 1970s, Salinta tended the farm, took care of her children and continued weaving as a source of extra income as well as pride.

According to her, it takes her 3 to 4 months to finish a fabric 3.5 meters by 42 centimeters in length or one abaca tube skirt per month. "It takes time but the result is great," she admits.

Salinta still uses the technique she learned from her mother - the abaca-ikat weaving or weaving using fiber from the abaca plant.

The painstaking process begins with the stripping of the abaca plant to get the fiber for textile, drying the thread and tying each strand by hand.

There is also that delicate work of setting the strands on the "bed-tying" bamboo frame. There, one has yet to decide which strands should be tied to resist the dye. It is the bud or the tying of abaca fiber that defines the design.

One Filipino journalist observed: "Few women today have the inclination, patience or perseverance to undergo the strict discipline and training to become a weaver. Salinta maintains a pragmatic attitude towards the fact that she… might be the only remaining Bagobo weavers left, the last links to a colorful tradition that had survived the colonization period, but failed to withstand modern commerce."

Today, Salinta has built a solid reputation for her work, particularly those with intricate designs. There is a continuing demand for Salinta's woven products. In fact, she is now able to set her price.

In 1988, Salinta became an instant celebrity when the NCAA bestowed on her the Manlilikha ng Bayan award. She was cited "for weaving traditional Bagobo textiles marked by quality workmanship and intricacies of designs and colors of her particular Bagobo community whose unique identity and creativity she has kept alive for the present and succeeding generations."

Salinta received P100,000 as initial grant and a monthly stipend of P10,000 for the rest of her life. "I was totally caught by surprise when I was chosen one of the country's folk artists," she said.

But Salinta is worried. It is not only because the younger generation of Bagobos does not seem interested in learning to weave, but also because abaca is getting scarce.

Abaca, known worldwide as Manila hemp, became a monopoly in the 1920s. It used to be the principal raw material for the manufacture of world-renowned Manila rope and Manila paper. However, the advent of oil-based synthetic fibers in the mid-190s rapidly replaced abaca as prime cordage material and precipitated its almost total collapse.

"As a result, the Philippine abaca industry suffered a slump as prices hit rock bottom that several farmers eventually phased out their plantations," the Laguna-based Philippine Council for Agriculture, Forestry, and Natural Resources Research and Development (PCARRD) observes in its recent report.

According to Salinta, when her mother was still alive, abaca grew in abundance on the hillside of her village. The people planted abaca because the fiber was sought and bought by businessmen from the lowlands, she said. When the demand for abaca in the world market dropped, the plants were replaced with fruit-bearing trees, she added.

Today, only a few abaca groves are left. Without abaca, what will Salinta - or the next generation that may follow her footsteps - weave?

But there's a good news. The Fiber Industry Development Authority in Region 11 reported recently that the area planted to abaca has been growing. In 1995, the country's total area of abaca plantation was only pegged at 105,444 hectares but in 2004, the figure climbed to 127,258 hectares.

The major abaca-producing regions in the country are Eastern Visayas (38.8 percent) and Bicol (32.7 percent). Southern Mindanao is far third in rank in terms of fiber production, with only 10.7 percent of the country's total production, according to the PCARRD report. Bicol ranks first with 43.1 percent of the total area while Eastern Visayas has only 26 percent.
Southern Mindanao ranks third with only 7.4 percent of the total area of production.