Sleeping in Court

Of all the things I want to avoid as much as possible in my work as a reporter, it’s being sent to sit in at seminars or trainings, or any gathering that requires me to sit still and listen for more than 30 minutes. I consider it pure torture.

Just the other day when I was about to start eating my breakfast at 10 in the morning, my editor called me to cover a controversial case at the Supreme Court involving the former president of the electric company in Palau. Expecting something like the trial courts in the Philippines, I left my baon and drove to the court, promising lunch buddies Celina and Denice to be back within 30 minutes.
The trial, which was the first one I covered since I worked for Island Times newspaper here started just as soon as I arrived.

I didn’t even sit down properly because I was expecting that one of the lawyers will file a motion for postponement or other motions that will delay the trial but I was in for a disappointment. The Attorney General (AG) began his delivery pointing out the merits and evidences why the defendant should be judged guilty of the 15 counts of cheating and forgery. The minutes ticked by and the AG was still blabbing on and on. I began to nod my head, not in agreement but because of extreme drowsiness. Exactly 45 minutes later, he stopped and the judge gave the floor to the defendants for the rebuttal.

I haven’t expected a full-blown court battle. At exactly 12 noon (can’t believe I was still alive after two hours sitting in court), I had shifted my buttocks in almost all positions available while sitting and had desperately fought my hunger and drowsiness when the judge declared he was not hungry and that the trial will go on till lunch.

Oh gosh! So the court trials here will depend on the stomach of the judges, I mumbled but I couldn’t leave. My buddies were waiting for me because I brought our food in the car. To divert my attention from hunger and wake up, I began fumbling with my cellphone inside my bag, turning it to silent mode before starting to send messages to Celina without looking at the keypad. I had mastered texting without looking at the keypad that if amazed my boss who doesn’t know how to text. Of course he didn’t know that my cellphone back in Davao is the last thing I hold before going to sleep and the first thing I touch when I wake up in the morning.

“Lady, you turn that cellphone off right this minute!” I was startled when a huge Palauan hissed behind my ear. I was irritated because I kept the cellphone inside the bag and it was in silent mode but I obeyed just the same, albeit grumbling.

It was the third day of hearing and the case was judged at around 2 o’clock that afternoon. So that’s how speedy cases are decided upon in Palau. I got another headache because unlike there in Davao, it is so hard to acquire copies of the decisions and other documents here. You have to go to the Clerk of court for it and have to squeeze blood from stones before you can get what you want. I made an appointment to talk with the AG (you can’t simply conduct ambush-interviews here, you’ve gotta make an appointment first) at 10 a.m. the following day to get more details of the case.
I showed up at the agreed time and was informed by the secretary that the AG took the day off and went fishing. Uh-uh.

Chopsticks 101

I never got the chance to learn how to use chopsticks before and I often wondered why people would waste their time trying to learn how to eat using them. I thought trying to eat using chopsticks is silly because the spoon and fork is a much more advanced eating tool and I don't see why I have to bother learning something so useless to me. Or so I thought, until I had to feature a Japanese restaurant for last week’s issue of our newspaper.

My editor Maam Lei has already made reservations for us at Sushi Bar, an authentic Japanese restaurant right along the main street of Koror, Palau’s capital state ahead of time so when we got there, everything was almost cooked (or uncooked) to perfection.

After taking several photos of the various dishes prepared for us, we settled down to start eating. I shook my head at the whole lot spread before us: food with complicated Japanese names which in reality were mostly raw fish sliced and served in different styles and comes with different dips and paste, fish rolled in sticky rice and topped with some leaves, sushi, sashimi and other foods designed to produce tears to my pure Bisaya palate.

And then I noticed something lacking. Placed beside my table napkin is a pair of chopsticks, those two long thin sticks made of bamboo which translates loosely into the English as "speedy ones" or "speedy fingers". Chop sticks, I learned later, used to mean "fast stick" but it doesn't apply to me because how could one eat fast by picking food with it is still a wonder to me.

“Miss, pahingi naman ng kutsara at tinidor please,” I asked a passing waitress but before she could give me what I want, Maam Lei stopped her. She must have understood what I said and told us to practice using chopsticks because “it’s a must in this Republic”. Oh gosh.

Maam Lei demonstrated to the four of us (I was with officemates Celina, Au and Maam Lei’s daughter Bella) where and how to hold the two sticks together to be able to pick up food. We were so clumsy at first but towards the end of the meal, we were able to pick something using the chopsticks. I ended up still hungry though.

I was attending a press conference during my SunStar days last year at the Marco Polo hotel when a small table was laid and dainty bowls of food I only see in Chinese restaurants were set before us for “media sampling”. I was hungry and getting hungrier by the pleasant aroma rising from the food. Then we were handed chopsticks.

It was not my first time to touch chopsticks, mind you but I never did learn (or acquired the interest to learn) using them.

"Why would I spend more time trying to spoon food into my mouth using two thin pieces of wood when the realiable spoon and fork are doing a fairly good job of it?" I've always argued to myself.
I guess I would never be comfortable using them.

Everybody was having an easy time. I did try though but I did not enjoy the food despite my hunger. The little bits of food I successfully spooned into my mouth were even too little for birds. I had a hard time spooning rice into my mouth because it took more manual dexterity than I currently possess.

As there were only very few of us, I was unable to escape and was forced the join the 'food sampling'. Admittedly, I missed breakfast and was getting considerably hungrier but I did not fancy Chinese food, plus the use of chopsticks.

I joined the other media practitioners and spooned food into our small dishes and we were handed the chopsticks. The appetizing aroma of Chinese fried rice tempted by tastebuds but the futile attempts to spoon rice into my mouth using those chopsticks were getting on my patience.

I’m having rice and fried wahoo fish for lunch today. I’m using chopsticks and I’m slowly learning how to use it but I still consider my hands the most realiable alternative in the absence of spoons. I always get a different satisfaction from eating with my hand.

Bar-hopping in Palau

(Published in Sunstar Davao, May 28, 2006 issue)

I’ve been working in this pacific island for the past seven months and yet homesickness is still a constant visitor. In a place as small as Palau, (which literarily means you can’t hide anywhere because no matter where you squeeze yourself or your car in, somebody who knows you is always bound to see you), there’s not really much to do except go bar-hopping but its your pocket who would surrender first.

Woe to the nocturnal beings like me! Not much of a bar-hopper myself here in Davao before, I refused to go with my co-employees at first but after I’ve already memorized all the slits and slats and designs on my ceiling as I stare at it every night, or look out the grilled windows (yes, there are steel grills plus glass plus screen, whew! Occupants of the city jail must be feeling freer than we do) and listened to the crickets outside and memorized the constant litany of the bickering couple next door, I decided there’s not much choice but go with them. Sometimes ex-Sunstar buddy Cel and I would just lock ourselves in her room and swap stories over a couple of “six-pack” cans of beer.

Most of the entertainers in night clubs in Palau are Filipinas or Chinese. Unlike here in Davao, where Rex and Jun and I would just sit on the rooftop of Cogot’s and spend more hours in a few bottles of San Miguel light and nobody would mind, these scantily-clad entertainers hover about the tables, ever ready to tilt the bucket (beer is served by the bucket on some clubs, and a bucket contains 5 cans of Budweiser, or San Miguel light priced at $10.) every few minutes, silently prodding you to drink and be quick about it. For us who belong to the kuripot type, we drink Emperador or Fundador, or buy “six-pack” cans of beer for only $5.10 at our barracks (boarding house) first before going to the clubs. On paydays, the bars we usually go to are brimming with Filipinos plus a handful of Palauans. There are also bars which are patronized mainly by Palauans but we very rarely go there.

The most unpleasant part in barhopping is in going home, and that is usually between 2 to 3 a.m. (the bars close). If I’m not driving, I don’t set limits in drinking but if I take my car, then I really have to set aside my last ounce of sanity to reach our barracks still in one piece.
I had a drop too much when we got out of the bar last pay day when I found out that my co-employee who was supposed to drive us home was already in the car, snoring and very drunk. It left me with no choice but to drive my other companions home. They were very noisy and I have to exert a gargantuan effort to concentrate on the road. I thought I succeeded when suddenly, I saw multi-colored lights flooding the street ahead. I blinked my eyes and yes, the road was paved with an unusual orange glow. I thought I must have been more drunk than I thought I was so I slowed and then I saw the flashing blue lights from several cars which could only mean one thing- the police! They were conducting a random patrol and any car which runs over the orange markers on either side of the road are flagged down and the driver checked if he’s drunk. The line of flagged cars was getting longer as the bars closed. Fighting the rising panic, I warned my companions to stay still as I poured all my efforts to stay free from the orange markers. Fortunately, we didn’t end up at the rear of the line of cars and we got home intact.

By the way, all my road accidents (average of once a month!!!) happened when I don’t have a single drop of alcohol in my body. Otherwise I would have been a constant overnight visitor in Koror State jail- and even the thought of it makes me shiver with fear. And- don’t get me wrong, we don’t go barhopping that often, only when its pay day, and you know it’s not that often!

Car Blues

Before I acquired a driver’s license here in Palau, I only need to announce that I have a coverage somewhere and somebody from the office has to deliver me where I need to go and pick me up afterwards. The same applies for co-reporter Aurea. But it was not always nice because all the people in the office have their own specific tasks and are very busy that sometimes I had to wait for a long time before I will be picked up.
Our boss keeps on nagging us to get our driver’s licenses so we don’t have to bother anyone with their work.
“This can’t go on forever, all of us are busy so you need to fend for yourselves,” Boss Phillip keeps on telling us.

Au and I passed the driver’s written test in November last year yet but here, you have to take an actual road test with a police officer before you will be issued a driver’s license. That is if you pass the test. If not, you will be required to take a Learner’s Permit good for 60 days which will allow you to drive provided someone who has a driver’s license is with you.

Au took the road test last December and got her driver’s license right away. I chickened out after I backed from the parking space of our barracks (that’s what boarding houses are called here) and accidentally ran over the foot of my officemate who was teaching me to drive. I did not drive again for the following weeks until I felt the necessity.
As soon as I’ve collected enough guts, I took the road test last month (this after two postponements). I was sweating but an officemate told me not to turn on the car aircon so that the examiner will not feel comfortable and hurry on with the exam. Miraculously, I did not drive the car straight to the sea or down a cliff with the huge examining officer sitting next to me and I passed with only two mistakes. I forgot to turn on the signal light when he told me to make a U-turn.

The license gave me absolute freedom because I no longer cower in fear whenever I meet a police car on the streets. Just a couple of weeks ago, the office granted me a car loan and I got a second hand silver Toyota Camry. (which, I discovered, is a big headache because it consumed all my allowance).

The day after I got the car, I went to have my key duplicated in a hardware in Koror and decided just to walk to my next appointment which is just five buildings away. But to be honest, I still had a hard time trying to park and back the car). After finishing my transaction at the National Communications office, I called our office to ask for somebody to pick me up. I sat on a bench waited. It was then when I noticed the key dangling from my shoulder bag strap. I had to make a second call to the office because I forgot I already have a car.

(Published in Sunstar Davao, February 19, 2006 issue)

Driving license-less

With the millions of public utility vehicles plying all kinds of routes in the Philippines, and with the price of vehicles tucked way above the range of ordinary pockets, learning how to drive is never a necessity but here in the Republic of Palau, it’s an entirely different story.

Almost everybody drives a car because there are no jeepneys and other means of public transportation except taxicabs, and you just could not flag them down anytime because you have to call them at their station and wait for them to fetch you wherever you are. The minimum fare is $2.00 (how I miss Davao where taxicabs would even be willing to wait for you while you eat breakfast or take a bath!).

I bid goodbye to my P3,000 and enrolled in a 10-hour driving class in Davao City a week before our flight. The jeepy we were to practice on was manual, and there were two sets of everything- clutch, brake and accelerator, steering wheel and the instructor occupy the other one so there’s really no worry, you’re not driving alone.

Co-reporter Aurea and I took the 50-item written test for the driver’s license under the strict supervision of a huge policewoman. Fifteen minutes later I got my score- 2 mistakes, not bad but the written test is worthless if I fail the actual driving test.

I finally borrowed the company car assigned to us (I call it tarak-tarak because it is just a little bigger than a matchbox car) to practice last Sunday afternoon after my co-employee Denice volunteered to be my instructor.

In Palau, 99 percent of the cars are automatically-operated cars and 98 percent of the cars are right-hand drive cars so it needs adjustment to get used to it. From the start he showed me the differences in slow and fast speeding, demonstrating how it would feel to drive past 50 miles, careening down the curves and slowing down then taking up speed again until we reached our barracks (that’s what we call our boarding houses here).

When we stopped, a brown Lexus car whizzed by and stopped right in front of us. What we didn’t know was that our boss’ wife had been chasing us for the past few miles. We received a brushing off from her for over-speeding. The speed limit here is 40 miles per hour and overtaking is a crime(uh-uh, what a way to start the lessons).

We went to the parking lot of the international airport which is perfect for steering wheel exercises, left and right turning, 180 and 360-degree turns, braking, etc. I was starting to enjoy and get the feel of the wheel when a police officer pointed at us. My first instinct was to speed up and flee but Denice motioned me to stop. I braked and the police officer leaned over the window.
“May I see your license?” he asked.
For seven full seconds, there was complete silence. My heart was beating so fast and loud I wondered if the officer heard it. Then I stammered, “I don’t have one yet, sir,’
How come you’re driving a car? “I’m still practicing sir,” I nervously replied.
“This is not a practice area,” he declared.

My fears doubled because I realized just then that Denice also did not possess a driver’s license although he had been driving in Palau for the past four months. Known for being hot-tempered and sharp-tonqued, my fears tripled because I was afraid Denice might just engage the police in an argument and we’d be sure to land in jail overnight until we will be bailed out or until the time when the apprehending police officer goes on duty again. I prepared for the worst but surprisingly Denice apologized and the police must have been in a good mood because he forgave us and we fled from the airport.

I heaved a sigh of relief and took over the wheel again after a few miles but when I glanced at the rearview mirror, a police car was right behind us. I swerved and became nervous, pulled at the curb and started to shake with nervousness that Denice took over the wheels again.

My lessons were completed when rain suddenly fell and it was already dark. It was another aspect of driving I haven’t tried before- the glare of the headlines from oncoming vehicles was painful and the road was slippery and wet. One wrong turn and you’re sure to be at the receiving end of a string of curses from a local resident.

Denice did everything possible to distract me, turned on the radio to a rock station full blast, turned on the wiper fast, asked me to look somewhere else, operate knobs while that I had to concentrate so hard on driving, lessons I never learned in driving school.

Yesterday I had my first taste of real driving- almost two hours of maneuvering rough roads that look more like a dried-up river than a road. I had to hold on to the steering wheel for control most of the time. Judging from the pale face of my Palauan companion, I must have driven like hell (50-60 miles, I thought the speedometer was set at kilometers!)

I’m going to get a schedule for an actual driving test with a Palauan police officer next week to be able to get a professional driver’s license. I hope to high heavens I won’t get nervous and fall straight to the sea with the examiner. That, I’m sure might be enough ground to ban me from the country forever.

Panic packing

Only intense pressure at the eleventh hour can make me tick in packing up my things for any trip I take and this had always worked for me in the past but last week the system failed. I knew the trip I was going to make was to be an exemption from all other out-of town trips I’ve taken because I was leaving the boarding house which has become my haven for the past three years for good.

Our flight for Manila was scheduled at 7 a.m. on Tuesday last week. On Monday evening I went to NCCC mall to buy a bath towel and other necessary items, lined up at several counters to pay for my purchases while the precious time I should have spent doing final packing ticked by.
Minutes later, I was frantically stuffing things into my luggage bag, knowing that my choices were either to take them or leave them behind, never to see them again. My sentimentality won, and I had a hard time trying to coax the zippers to close as my luggage bag was loaded with unnecessary items.

My cellphone kept on ringing, messages flew in and I was getting irritated because I was under intense pressure. I should have been wise enough to turn it off or turn the ringer to silent mode to be able to concentrate on the task at hand. Multiple messages came from Grace, chiding me for still not showing up when the despedida party they were holding was for me.
When the clock struck midnight,I was almost finished but still had to deliver a roll of newspapers to columnist Jojie Alcantara at her house. Thanks for buddy Jun who came to the rescue and delivered me in his motorcycle.

At 4 a.m. I was still in Lanang, groggy with all the drinks the group plied on me since we went bar hopping when Celina texted she was going to fetch me from the boarding house. I barely made it home before she arrived stopped by and caught struggling with the huge luggage bag down the 12 steps of stairs.

Domestic flights passengers were only allowed 20 kilos of baggage and mine totaled 30 kilos. I painfully paid P367 from my wallet for the excess 10 kilos. I had to drag my super-heavy luggage bag over to the second floor of the tenement where Kuya Ariel, hubby of news editor Gigie lives in camp Crame that day and drag it across the hallways and down the stairs again the next morning.

I texted my younger brother in Marikina to come and save me from the excess baggage but changed my mind when we were informed that international flights allow us to check in 70 pounds of baggage.
I wondered what made my baggage too heavy but I dared not open it because it require me two weeks to put it back together. I hate to remember the agony I went through in dragging the heavy luggage all over the Ninoy Aquino International Airport until I was finally able to check it in.
Whew, relief!

The Customs in Palau answered the puzzle. They are not equipped with x-rays and had to literally and manually inspect all items in your suitcases, and I mean EVERY item. The Custom official took everything out, shook my clothes and blankets and jeans and scrutinized all items, including underwears while everybody looks on. It made me cringe inside but was hardly able to suppress my laughter when I realized that I forgot to change the five and 10 peso coins, and more loose change totaling to almost P400 from my alkansya to bills. I couldn’t put them in the garbage can, so I have no choice but to stand watch as the huge Customs official tore through the newspaper wrapping and saw my loot.
I also brought a stuffed monkey curtain hugger (couldn’t leave him behind as he held my curtains for the past two years), books, and an odd assortment of objects no sensible traveler would ever think of carrying.

Runaway Bride

The hallway of the trial court was deserted. It was stiffling hot but I had to brave it to go to one trial court branch to get a copy of a case decision before leaving for the office to write my stories for the day.

I've always hated going to the third floor of the Ninoy Aquino Hall of Justice because all the outlets of the aircondition units in the different rooms are out facing the hallway, making the place feel like one huge oven but I couldn't altogether avoid going there.

As I turned a corner from the stairway, I heard the wailing of a child and wondered what a child could be doing in that hot inferno.

What I saw made me wish I had captured the scene on the lens because there, in the humid hallway was a bride in a flowing white gown, complete with a long face veil and make-up (alas, too heavy of it) carrying a child about a year old and trying her best to make the little boy stop crying.

She tried to dance the boy to silence, alternately threatening to throw him over to the open window and promising to buy him toys but the boy just went on shouting and wrestling with the bride, filling the hallway with deafening noise until everybody went out to help the bride with her difficult job.

After a few minutes, the boy decided to stop crying. Just like that and the group trooped back inside the courtroom to continue the interrupted wedding.

I peeked into the judge's chamber out of curiousity and discovered that the little boy would not come near anyone else but her mother, who was the bride.

After two years covering the justice beat everyday, we were already used to it and in fact we have learned to love the crowd and the various people going in and out of the building.

One morning Bobby (of the other paper) and I had to squeeze through a thick crowd of dressed-to-kill people in the municipal trial courts hallway who were waiting for their turn to enter the courtroom. The whole entourage were perspiring in their transparent barongs, the ladies in their long gowns. Soon two little flower girls starting screaming with the heat while mothers rushed to silence them.

The groom, a man in his late twenties kept fanning his bride with a paper fan. Colored perspiration was starting to run down the bride's face (from too heavy make-up) but there were just too many couples to be wedded ahead of them.

Also squeezing to pass through right behind us were four juveniles handcuffed to each other followed by two policemen, apprehended for petty theft, one of them answered when I asked him.
To sum it up, the hallway was a merry mix of people dressed silk gowns and barong, casual clothes and people in handcuffs and orange t-shirts (residents of the city jail).

Suddenly, there was a warning for everybody to vacate the trial court because a phone caller said a bomb was about to explode in a few minutes. Everyone scampered off to safety, except for Bob and me and some employees. Bomb scares at the trial court was not new for us but we went out just the same.

There before the small stalls offering photo copying services was the heavily-made up bride, running towards no particular destination while looking for her companions. She got separated from her groom-to-be in the scramble to get out of the building. I almost stepped on her trailing gown when Bob and I chased her for an interview but we were unable to because her relatives, who were also looking for her called her. She ended up being married to her groom under a mango tree outside the justice hall.

It would be wise for brides-to-be to think twice before investing thousands of pesos on an elegant wedding gown and be married in the midst of suspected criminals in handcuffs, police authorities who guard them, trial court staff and a lot of strangers, but whatever makes you happy, do go ahead, (expenses are yours anyway...). Besides it's a unique setting, don't you think?