My second visit to the prison began very much like the first. I showed up at 1:00 o’clock, and there was a lineup of about twenty-five women at the door, some with young children and many with bundles of food. There were far more motorcycles parked around the door and sidewalk this time, and the lineup was even more of a mess. It also seemed to move slower than yesterday.

There was a different woman writing down our information in the register. This one was younger and much more attractive. I had hoped it would be the same woman as the previous day so that I wouldn’t have to explain as much. I also had totally forgotten Bill’s (not his real name) last name, so I couldn’t even supply that when the woman asked for it. Luckily, the guards standing around remembered me and they shouted out Bill’s last name. I did not bring a ballpen this time. Nor did I bring the plastic bar that the hotel key attaches to. I had simply taken the key off the key ring and pocketed just that. However, I stumbled across a new wrinkle. This time they asked to examine my wallet and upon discovering that I had 3,000 pesos in it, they said that I was not able to bring it into the jail. I had seen in the various signs and posters about forbidden items a picture of a stack of money. Money wasn’t listed anywhere, but there was this picture of money at the bottom of one poster. I sort of trusted the guards, so I asked if I could just leave my wallet with them. To my surprise, they didn’t want to do that. They said that I would have to leave my wallet outside the jail somewhere and come back in. That would mean returning to my hotel, and I didn’t want to do that. But then the guard said that they could just count the money and then count it again when I left to make sure that I hadn’t left any behind. I said that was fine, and they took my wallet. But then, for some strange reason, they didn’t bother to count the money. They just sort of opened my wallet and then handed it back to me with the warning to not give any money to any of the prisoners.

Bill was expecting me this time, and he was sitting on a plastic chair at the side of the basketball court. I spotted him right away and he saw me and we both waved. Another prisoner came running up – literally – with another plastic chair for me and set it down beside Bill.

Bill wondered what had taken me so long. I’m not sure what he meant by that since there was no way for him to know what time I showed up at the prison. He didn’t know that I was there right at one o’clock. In any event, I told him all about the lineup – how slow it was and how this time they had had a problem with the amount of money I had in my wallet. Bill asked me how much I was carrying and I told him about the 3,000 pesos. Bill was surprised that the guards worried about that. Bill said that he brought more than that into the prison each month for his own expenses. The difference, I imagine, is that the guards know about that money and it is recorded somewhere. They simply frown on unregulated money coming in. I can imagine that would cause all kinds of problems. Or perhaps they were worried about my security if the other inmates knew I was carrying money. Of course, we’re not talking about a huge amount. Three thousand pesos is only about seventy-five dollars.

It appeared to be much quieter in the prison, and I was able to chat with Bill easier. I had to repeat myself only a few times. We talked for quite a long time and mainly about ordinary topics that interest us both – digital cameras, computers, travel, social psychology experiments, movies, physics, education, human nature and lots of other things.

We didn’t talk about the prison very much, but I kept my eyes open and I tossed a question his way once in a while. I noticed that the sari-sari store did quite a good business. From a distance it didn’t look that elaborate, but people walked away from the store carrying 1-litre bottles of cold Coke and ice cream bars among other luxury items. At one point, another inmate sat near us. His name was Toks. He was a Muslim from Mindanao and was one of the “Mayors” of a cell block. Toks was carrying several small plastic bags containing fried bananas – my favorite snack. He offered me one of the bags – each bag containing two bananas. Not having had lunch, I was very glad to accept and being unsure of what was going on, I asked him how much they were. He said ten pesos. I reached into my pocket, but Toks waved me off. He meant the bananas as a gift. Later, he produced a bottle of cold Coke, and he poured out some into a plastic bag and handed it to me. He offered fried bananas and Coke to Bill as well, but Bill politely declined. When Toks pressed him, Bill said that he didn’t want to get fat, and he patted his stomach. I don’t know why Bill turned down the bananas and Coke. Perhaps he doesn’t like sweet stuff. Or perhaps he just likes to keep things simple in the prison and not accept things from other inmates.

Beside the sari-sari store, there was a little barbecue stall. While sitting with Bill, I had noticed the enticing smell of barbecue, but I was still surprised to see that there was a barbecue place right inside the prison. I wondered aloud how this one guy got permission to operate a stall in the prison. If he got permission, why not half a dozen others? Why him and not someone else? There had to be a reason involving who he knew or who he paid. Bill said that there was a very complicated system in place inside the prison as far as money was concerned. The leaders of the prisoners – the Mayors – had to get their cut of everything that went on. Exactly how that works would probably take a while to figure out. Bill also said that the prison officials were all corrupt. They pocketed large amounts of money from the prison budget – money that was meant for the prisoners. I don’t think Bill could know this for sure, but it’s a safe bet. Certainly, every inmate would believe this. It’s a sad fact that every Filipino I’ve spoken to simply takes it for granted that all members of the government are corrupt and are in government for the sole purpose of making themselves rich at the expense of regular people. The problem with this attitude is probably that it is so matter-of-fact and resigned. No one seemed particularly upset about it. They just accepted it as a fact of life, which means that if they ever got into government, they would simply be corrupt themselves. It is just the way things are.

The women inmates emerged from their side of the prison again and engaged in another spirited game of volleyball. Bill and I were right in the line of fire of balls that veered off the court, and we probably should have gotten up and moved behind the fence, but we didn’t bother. It was only occasionally that the ball came our way, and I generally spotted it in my peripheral vision and caught it before it smacked me in the head. Bill said that today was another volleyball day and that the next day, the court would be used for basketball by the men. I commented again on the high quality of this basketball court. I couldn’t get over the fact that the basketball hoops had actual netting on them. I told Bill that hoops without netting were a pet peeve of mine. I hated shooting baskets with a hoop that had no netting. It was a psychological or a visual thing. Without a net, I couldn’t tell if the ball went into the hoop or not. And I really liked the “whoosh” sound that the ball made when it went through the net. If there was no net on a hoop, I just couldn’t be bothered to shoot baskets. Bill commented that this court was actually used by outside groups – largely basketball teams from the schools in Tacloban. That kind of blew my mind, that high school teams would come inside the prison to play each other. The basketball court could not be closed off from the prison itself, so the students would be right inside the prison with the inmates. This more than anything else illustrates how different this prison is from any prison in Canada or the United States. The mind boggles when you consider the problems that would arise if such a thing were to be attempted in the US. It simply couldn’t happen. Here, though, it not only happens quite easily, it doesn’t even seem that strange. I can see the prisoners enjoying it immensely. There was even a large audience of a couple hundred men watching the women’s volleyball game. As I mentioned before, this was an official game with uniforms, a referee with a whistle, and a score keeper. So there was a lot at stake and people cheered and groaned and laughed at all the various plays. I’m sure when high school teams played there, there would be just as much if not more interest and it would be something to help pass the time. I can even see it having a therapeutic effect. The inmates in this prison probably feel like they are still part of the larger community outside the prison. Indeed, the outside community spills into and flows through the prison quite freely. Therefore, there wouldn’t be nearly as much tension inside the prison and it wouldn’t be as much of a shock when a prisoner is released into the outside world. I’m sure arguments can be made about whether such a prison is a real punishment and serves as a deterrent for criminals and all the rest of it, but those are deep waters.

I was still curious about many things about Bill and his life in the prison, but I didn’t ask many questions. As I said, we chatted about other things most of the time I was there. About the only thing I did learn was that he slept on the floor in the hallway along with the masses. He did not have a space in any of the rooms. I wanted to ask him for more details. Did he sleep on carboard? Did he have a pillow or sheets or anything like that? If not, how could he possibly survive? But I didn’t want to force him to talk about his life in the prison. He is there all day and all night long, so I thought the best thing to do would be to focus on other things.

After I said my goodbyes to Bill, I walked around the basketball court towards the exit door. A group of prisoners were standing there, and they asked me if I had any extra money I wanted to leave behind. This, probably, was why the guards were reluctant to let me in with money in my pocket. Perhaps they knew that prisoners would ask me for money, and it would better if I didn’t have any with me.

 

 

 

Tags: ATM, Canada, Ethiopia, fire, mine, Peace Corps, Philippines Bike Trip 2013, Tacloban, United States, US