The scent of freshly caught fish and hanging cuts of meat and pork linger in the humid air. Vendors call out customers with the prices of their sold goods amid the shuffle of footsteps and clinking coins on wooden and cemented counters. 

In the middle of this constant motion, towering above the maze of stalls and tarpaulin roofs, a structure of metal sheets and skeletal beams interrupts the rhythm. A private-owned redevelopment project in Bankerohan Public Market, launched in 2024, aims to build a modern, multi-level market to improve sanitation and attract more customers. 

Yet for many vendors, decades in the market have meant more than building livelihoods; they have built relationships with buyers, or suki, whom they have come to rely on.  The public market stands as the bloodline, not only sustaining their income but also supporting their families. 

Between progress and survival

Jenifer*, whose family has operated a traditional sari-sari stall since 2005, is all too aware of the changes in the market. She was among the first to be informed that her current space would eventually be cleared to make way for the new construction. 

“Oo aware mi pero ang amoang pagka [sabot] kay di ata dayon himuon nga parking lot… Ilahang assurance sa amoa na after mahuman ang building, mabalik na mi sa amoang pwesto,” she said. 

The promise of return offers Jenifer* some comfort, yet it does little to ease the tension that shadows her every day.

“Maski giingnan mi nga priority daw mi, wala man gi-specify pila ka months or years. Dili dayon pagkahuman sa building… kay unsaon man namo manginabuhi? Lisod jud.”

The new market mall complex promises a cleaner, more organized, and regulated space with cemented floors. However, with the possibility of Jenifer* relocating inside the new structure, rent is expected to rise, which she has already begun to calculate how it will squeeze the small margin that keeps her stall afloat.

“Gi-inform mi daan na naay increase sa renta. Dili lang sa amo, sa uban pud jud na. Magamay jud ang labor, musaka ang presyo sa mga produkto… di jud pwede nga mubo ra kaayo ang presyo kay di maka-survive,” she shared.

The current rent prices range from P8,000 to P22,000. However, as of this writing, no details on the expected rent increases have been disclosed, as they have yet to be discussed with the vendors promised space in the facility.

Another vendor named Jessica*, also a sari-sari store owner, who has been selling in Bankerohan for three years, often finds herself staring at the empty spaces where her stall might one day stand—or might never even return.

“Wala pa pud sila giingon sa amoa… bisan mag-pirma mi og contract yearly, wala gihapon klaro kung asa mi ibalhin kung mahuman na ang building. Lisod jud kay ginagasto namo ang income para lang maka-survive adlaw-adlaw. Unsay mahitabo kung wala na mi pwesto? Mao gyud nang kabalaka namo,” she expressed, voice tinged with resignation.

Similarly, Alex*, an ukay-ukay vendor, shrugs at the uncertainty—aware that no matter what assurance may or may not come, he has little control over the future of his stall.

“Para sa akoa kay wala pud koy mahimo ana. Tanggap lang mi unsay mahitabo. Walay klaro kung asa mi ipabalhin. Mao jud nang business, lisod jud.”

On the other hand, Arnold*, a regular customer at the public market, worries that modernization may come at the cost of accessibility, fretting that it could put everyday necessities out of reach for those who rely on the traditional stalls like him. 

“Prefer jud nako diri. Mas barato pud diria. Kung mag grocery, sa palengke pud, kay mahal jud siguro nang mu-palit sa [project],” he admitted.

An old market, a new hope

However, not all vendors dread the shift. Isabel*, carrying on her family’s fish and processed meat business from the 1990s, sees potential in this redeveloped market complex.

“Kung mall siya dira, basin mudaghan ang tawo diri,” she stated. 

Consumers, too, have noticed the changes. Jun*, who has been buying goods at Bankerohan for nearly twenty years, saw the newly propped building as an improvement of the city but eyed warily whether the new market would still fit his budget or not.

“Mas gwapo na dira sa building market, organized, mas limpyo. Ato jud nang choice kay syempre og atong budget di ka abot didto syempre mangita nalang jud ka og [mas barato],” he said. 

The redevelopment project envisions a sanitized, multi-level market that grows upward as a solution addressing the cramped, winding walkways that currently define Bankerohan. Yet it is the vendors, the families, and the many sukis whose lives are integrated into this space—and whose daily routines, hopes, and struggles will determine whether this renovated market truly thrives.

Meanwhile, the City Economic Enterprise Office (CEEO) explained that it could not issue an official statement regarding the redevelopment, as the project is privately owned and falls outside its direct authority. 

For now, nothing has changed. Vendors still call out to their suki, transactions still happen in coins and bills, and the market continues to move to the rhythm it knows by heart.

“Ana man jud ang kinabuhi kung maninda… depende ra jud na sa kapalaran.” says Alex. But whenever they look up, the cold and hard steel frames continue to rise and stare. Every glance upward reminds them that the world they have known for decades is slipping through their fingers, and that survival here may soon rest on forces beyond their hands.

Every call, sale, and step through the narrow eskinitas has built the Bankerohan Public Market for decades. For its vendors, the question is no longer whether change will come, but whether they will remain when it does. Long before steel frames rose above its stalls, the market had already been built through years of labor, relationships, and daily rhythms.

As the sun rises and sets over the market, and dust gives way to the gleaming walls, will it still be the vibrant lifeline it has always been, or will it become nothing more than a shiny, empty structure, where the soul of the market has been left behind?

Editor’s note: Names marked with asterisks are pseudonyms used at the request of the interviewees.