Use the When in Baguio app (and not just for the food)

Do you use food delivery apps?

Well, if you’re a Baguio urbanite who prefers staying at home on weekends to braving the congested city streets; or hate the traffic jams the city is now notorious for; or would love to eat out but don’t see the point of waiting for an hour or more just to get decent seats and end up rushing through your meal, you need to download the When in Baguio app—that is, if you plan to order in food you can enjoy in the comfort of home.

But why the When in Baguio app?

Well, you need to know the story behind the app first to see that, yes, indeed, this is one platform you should get behind.

And Manang Lucy and I were lucky to get a firsthand account of WIB’s early beginnings for our Negosyong Cordi program.

Street sellers inspire during COVID

Sellers of all kinds are part of the Baguio street scene. You have the taho vendors by Burnham Lake, The Mansion, etc., or your favorite silog spot tucked behind Session Road, or the fruit sellers in the different parks—so it only makes sense to have a homegrown delivery app that understands Baguio like a local.

That’s exactly what When in Baguio (WIB) set out to do during the height of the pandemic. But When in Baguio is more than just another platform to order your favorite silog, burger, or milk tea. It’s a quiet but determined movement built on community, grit, and yes, a lot of late nights and growing pains.

Some of WIB’s delivery staff gamely posing for the camera

WIB didn’t spring out of a flashy pitch deck or VC funding. Its roots lie in a very real moment.

According to Clifford Gonzales, one of its co-founders and head IT honcho, “While I was jogging in Burnham Park during the pandemic, I began to worry about the street vendors selling taho, fruits, etc., who were disappearing when the lockdowns hit.”

So what started as a concern for the familiar vendors Clifford met during his runs turned into a mission: How could they still make a living as the streets stayed empty?

From that question came the answer: build a food delivery system that works for the community and with the community.

Built by locals, for locals

Food delivery is now part of daily life, thanks in part to the pandemic. But if you’ve used the big multinational apps, you know how impersonal they can get.

When in Baguio flips that. The team isn’t based in a far-off HQ. Their office is right here in the city. The people taking your calls, posting menu updates, and coordinating deliveries are your kababayans, kailyans.

Daniel, who handles customer service, talks to around 150–200 people a day. He’s not a chatbot. He’s a real person learning how to improve his communication skills and handle complaints with empathy. Gab, one of the longest-serving WIB people, ensures there are enough riders during peak days like Panagbenga or rainy holidays. Gil, who manages merchant info, proudly updates prices and menus like he’s curating a neighborhood food map.

The busy WIB command center, where orders, customer requests/complaints, and vendor updates are processed

There are currently 16 riders and seven office employees keeping the gears turning. At its peak, WIB even had more riders, but many eventually returned to their old jobs or moved on after the pandemic eased up. And that’s exactly the point, WIB offered a decent livelihood when options were scarce.

It’s all about relationships

Here’s what you won’t get with multinational apps: heart.

Clifford’s wife Joyce Ann Romero-Gonzales, who handles the financial side of things, said, “WIB takes a lower commission from local merchants, just around 10%, compared to the 20–37% you’ll see elsewhere. And we don’t mind because what’s important is we keep the business afloat and growing while also ensuring we meet customer needs and remain competitive.”

Why? Because they believe success should be a shared experience, with all sides benefiting well from the arrangement.

WIB riders aren’t treated like ordinary employees because they’re also ambassadors for the app and the restaurants. They’re also the human bridge between the app and its merchant partners, building trust with each delivery.

Clifford says what makes him happiest isn’t just the app downloads. “I feel gratified and happy seeing a rider save enough for their kid’s graduation, or being able to afford home repairs or even a motorcycle purchase. It’s progress that I want to see in everyone.”

They’re up against the giants but still standing

Of course, competing with the pink and green apps isn’t easy. They have bigger marketing budgets, endless vouchers, and algorithm-driven pricing. But WIB banks on something more long-term: loyalty from locals. You can throw coupons at users, but you can’t manufacture trust and personalized service.

Clifford and Joyce acknowledge that it’s not always smooth sailing. Managing different personalities, setting policies, and handling system limitations are all part of the grind. But what they’ve built is proof that there’s space for a hyperlocal platform that’s responsive, grounded, and rooted in real community needs.

The When in Baguio app head office facade

Going beyond food

Food may have been the starting point, but WIB has bigger plans. Think Baguio pasalubong delivery for balikbayans or tourists who forgot to grab strawberry jam, chocolate crinkles, or peanut brittle at the palengke.

They’re also developing a feature to help tourists find safe, verified accommodation, so there’ll be no more falling for sketchy listings on social media. And yes, they’re also behind Adda Ngarud, a courier service tailor made for Cordillera businesses and households.

Why Baguio locals should care

Supporting When in Baguio is not only about where your lunches and merienda come from.

Downloading the app and using it for your food delivery needs is more about where your money goes. Every order helps a local rider earn a day’s wage. Every delivery strengthens a homegrown business trying to compete against national chains. And every bit of feedback you give helps improve a platform that isn’t run by faceless tech bros, but by neighbors who actually listen.