A Perfectly Normal Burglary

This tale has nothing whatsoever to do with seashore foraging or fishing, but is so illustrative of the island's culture that I'm including it anyway. 

Christmas Day 2005 - Was a total washout. November to March here, with the Amihan monsoon wind blowing, is the rainy season, and this year it has been wetter than normal. 

Of course, I don't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo, but, in my heart of hearts, Christmas Day should be somewhat special. This was only the start of what was to be a festive week.

The downpour was constant, and by 10 am, my garden was flooded.

By 1 in the afternoon, the wind was getting stronger. If a typhoon was coming, it was too late to evacuate, so I sat down with a drink on my balcony.

But by four, the wind had died down and the town was dealing with the usual after-effects of a tropical storm.

Those were to be the last pictures I took that week.

Tuesday, December 27th was my birthday; this year my 64th, special, as any Beatles fan will know. It still rained; the pig feast was postponed indefinitely, and I moped.

In the afternoon, a friend called round, and I suddenly missed my cell phone. Then, an hour or so later, my camera. Then the padlock to the front door that hangs just inside. The front door is always open, and my cluttered desk is just inside. Someone must have nipped inside and picked up the loot.

Rhon, my general factotum, was distraught; this was the first robbery on his watch during the past five years. He hunted desperately for clues to the robbery - nothing.

Then he had a solution; he would consult a managna'ay, (just a few centuries ago, we would have called her a witch) taking with him some things that the missing articles had touched.

Within an hour he was back, with the full story.

The camera and phone were taken by a girl, the managna'ay said. The girl would take some pictures down on the town seafront walk, the 'Boulevard', in some of the videoke joints that have sprung up there, all in a cacophonous bunch together. In three days the girl would tire of the novelty, and I would get the camera back. The thief lived on the way to Malinao, west along the coast from General Luna.

Of course, I don't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo, but the managna'ay's story seemed as plausible as any. 

The next morning, I formally 'booked' the robbery at the local police station, purely for insurance purposes. We had a bit of a barney about the police blotter description: 'persons unknown allegedly carted away...'. 

But, I protested, they did; I'm not just alleging it.

Meanwhile, to help the managna'ay's prediction along, I had a notice posted all around the town (and especially, of course, on the road to Malinao).

On Thursday, I saw the cell phone charger from my desk was missing. I had seen it after the robbery, and noted then that it had nothing left to charge. This strengthened my suspicion that the thing was an inside job. I suspected everybody. 

Rhon, and his sister, Diza, who cleans up every morning, were grilled. I wanted to ask questions of Koy Koy, my neighbour, but he wasn't around; I suspected him strongly, since my house is down a side lane, and no-one can pass his house without being noticed. And, especially, no-one can break into my back door without going through our joint back yard.

Saturday was New Year's Eve. We locked up the house, and went out into the rain to party. I had lent Rhon another camera, an underwater digital, but he went back to the house, halfway through the night, and put it under his bed blanket, because he thought it might get lost.

The next morning, of course, I was hung over. I did notice the mess on the counter top in the ex-videoke bar that is my 'back room', but it was Rhon who realised 'his' camera was missing, and during the day, we realised other things had gone; the 'other' underwater camera that flooded the first day it was used last year, an old Nokia cellphone, my umbrella, a Smart digital card, some mangoes and apples in the frig, and a piece of roast pig. 

We found the rest of the roast pig, the original carton of the 'other' underwater camera, and the submarine casing of the one that still worked, amongst the mess I had seen earlier on the counter top.

The next day, Koy Koy, my neighbour, brought me the dud underwater camera. He found it, he said, in a corner of our joint back yard, right in the middle of the way he takes every morning to fetch water from my well. Suspicions deepened.

Now this was a bit much. 

Three robberies in one week.

So I went to see the Mayor

Well, she's the official Mayor, but her husband, who had to stand down after too many terms, is the real local power. She's a very bright lady, put two and two together, and within a wink, we had two or three policemen round to see my house, and the crime scene. One policeman searched the house of Koy Koy, my neighbour, and found nothing. 

It was a nice gesture, but, unfortunately, only a gesture, towards solving the crime. None of us had a clue, except, perhaps, for the managna'ay.

The next morning, a girl cycled up to the house. I've known her for a long time; Nik Nik, the 'girl friend' of Israel, the anti-Zionist Israeli sailor, who built a new house, and abandoned it after some problems, leaving the title in her name.

She'd seen my notice, she said, and the camera (in fact two of them) just yesterday. And they'd given her an  apple (unusual - apples are in very short supply in GL).

There was a bit of confusion, for me at least, in her story about Bayud (wave) a place, a 'suburb' of GL, and Bayut (queer, poofter), a person. 

Within the hour, a squad of police had searched the house at Bayud, and, together with the 'suspect' , taken off for Katipunan, a tiny sitio in the hills. I had to pay for the police motorcycles' gasoline.

There, they found the thief and his friends had traded my $450 camera for a case of beer, thrown in the cell phone, and had a good time.

The police did a damned good job. They traced the camera and cell phone to shopkeepers in Dapa, the nearest town, and recovered them both.

The thief was taken to the Police Station, and I was asked (using my recovered camera) to take the 'Suspect Arraignment' photo.

I was asked to sign some papers awarding custody of the recovered goods as trial evidence; the trial was due to start on Thursday.

Meanwhile, a crowd of onlookers were peering through the windows and door of the police station room. One of them was the sister of the suspect's lover. I called her over, and made a veiled threat: 'If I don't get my other camera back, pronto, you're for it, too!'

It was returned within the half hour.

I rather wanted to lynch the thief on the spot; I would have had several willing helpers.  One of the policemen told me that, if there hadn't been so many potential witnesses, he would have taken the suspect out into the woods and put a bullet in his head to save police time and trouble.

We had recovered all three cameras, one cellphone (but no SIM card), and two out of three camera cards. I went home to view what was on the cards:

A rogue's gallery - the bayut and his lover, their hideout in another village, and even my cellphone stashed under the roof. I have, of course, credited the photographer, with a blue border, as usual.

The next day, I went back to the police station, to see how things were progressing. The thief had just been released, under a 24 hour holding rule for minors - he was only fifteen. I would have to file a formal case, swear witness affidavits, and so on. I did so, but, in the Philippines, the wheels of justice grind extremely slowly.
The case has been filed in Surigao City, where the 'suspect' may join his father, who is already in prison - for theft.

I also went back to see the managna'ay. She was hugely pleased that the criminal had 'been apprehended' and that I had most of my possessions back. 

When I chided her for not getting the sex of the criminal quite right, she took it with grace. Their had been, she said, three of them; two 'boys' and a girl.

A month later, a lady, who had been away over Christmas, returned my other, much older, cellphone. She'd found it in her bedroom, stashed behind a flower pot. Someone had also stolen her electronic calculator. I recognised the house from my thieves' photo collection. 

This is the view from the lady's bedroom window.

This is the view of her courtyard, and of the thief's lover boy, one Jovelyn Bersabal.

As of now, the thief is still free, and so are his accomplices.