National Living Treasures: Salinta Monon

From the time she was born, Salinta Monon watched her mother skillfully weave traditional Bagobo textiles on the loom. At 12, she asked her mother to teach her the craft. Her passion and determination allowed her to excel quickly, and by 65, she could identify traditional designs and their creators at a glance.

Throughout her life, Salinta has woven continuously—through marriage, six pregnancies, and even after her husband’s death 20 years ago. Today, she and her sister are the last remaining Bagobo weavers in their community. Her husband, who valued her weaving skills, paid a higher bride price to her parents. While he focused on farming, Salinta gathered and prepared abaca fibers. Balancing farm work and weaving, she often set aside her craft to help with planting and harvesting. After her husband’s death, she raised six children alone, relying on weaving as both a source of income and pride.

Salinta is renowned for the quality and intricate designs of her work, which remain in high demand. Though she can set her own prices, she feels underpaid given the time and effort she invests. It takes her three to four months to complete a 3.5-meter fabric or one abaca tube skirt per month. She once wore traditional Bagobo skirts like the sinukla and bandira, but now reserves them for special occasions due to the influx of cheaper, machine-made fabrics. Her favorite design, the binuwaya (crocodile), is also one of the most challenging to create.

Her son now helps strip abaca fibers, as wild abaca has become scarce due to a recent blight. To meet demand, they have begun cultivating their own plants. When working, Salinta isolates herself to focus entirely on her craft. She dreams of building a dedicated weaving space and hopes to teach young women in her community, who still show interest in learning despite modern pressures.

Few women in the 1990s have the patience or dedication to undergo the rigorous training required to become a weaver. Salinta accepts that she and her sister may be the last Bagobo weavers, the final links to a vibrant tradition that endured through Spanish and American colonization and thrived until the late 1950s.

“If someone wants to learn, I am willing to teach,” she says. “If there is none…” she shrugs, leaving the thought unfinished.