Jailed, Flogged and Deported

Flogging in Pakistan

I first met Ed in the agency that sent us to Saudi Arabia. He was seated beside me in my initial flight to the Middle East.

The first year in the hospital was fine. Ed worked with ease until a letter from his girlfriend informed him that she is scheduled to leave for the USA in one month’s time.

Immediately Ed approached our “mudir” (manager) and begged for permission to fly home. Sadly, the manager pointed out that his contract was for two years and only after that time, can he go back to the Philippines. Upset, Ed stormed out and went straight to the telephone booth where he dialed for a connection for more than an hour. Frustrated, he hammered the phone and promptly walked towards the hospital. Sensing trouble, I followed him.

Inside the hospital Ed walked straight into the manager’s office. After a few minutes shouts were heard then a crashing sound followed. People ran towards the office and as we were about to reach for the doorknob it opened and Ed walked out towards our flat and into his room.

Policemen arrived and the manager talked with them, then they went to Ed’s room. As they got out I saw Ed, his hands cuffed, he looked at me and bowed his head. I tried to get near but the policemen circled him.

The next day news came out that Ed was jailed and will be flogged. His sentence: seven days in jail plus ten floggings.

After my duty, I immediately brought clothes, food and water for Ed. His eyes red and hair uncombed he walked towards me and stopped, between us was a wall of steel bars. Ed knew of his sentence and continued that he will also be deported.

At the end of the seven day prison term, Ed was brought to the marketplace, still handcuffed he was made to stand where many could see him. Then a policeman read a paper informing the people of the details on Ed’s verdict.

Then a policeman holding a stick alighted from the van. The stick was as big as my little finger and about one and a half feet long. The man twisted it to straighten a curve revealing that it was flexible. Without a word he went directly to Ed and quickly flogged him lightly on the back, so quick the ten supposed to be lashes appeared as slight pats and was over in two seconds. The humiliation is probably much more painful than the actual flogging.

Immediately after, Ed was sent to his room and was told to prepare for his flight. Ed was deported and perhaps arrived home just in time to see his girlfriend.

I never saw Ed since then.

Charcoaled Bird

As I arrive for work, I was surprised to find all the teams present in the ambulance station. Following the familiar greetings I was told that there will be “good food for lunch”.

After their noon prayer, a bonfire was lit and carpets were laid circling the fire, there we sat comfortably as teas were served and freshly baked “khubz” (native bread) were passed, then dusty bricks from the nearby construction was given out. Shaken and confused, I held the khubz and the brick on each hand and thought of “the good food for lunch”.

Jaber our ever-reliable help positioned a large platter beside the fire, two men each carrying a large sack followed and poured the contents into the platter revealing a horrible mountain of headless gray-feathered birds. One after the other, Jaber carefully tossed the birds into the fire causing it to release a reeking smoke, I looked at the assembly but nobody complained.

Then with a meter long stick Jaber probed the flames and poked out the charred birds settling it just outside the fire, in no time large clusters of smoking black gourmet surrounded the flame. Just as the last bird got dug out I have decided not to stand up for a serving.

Jaber closely examined the stick and held it firmly, stood straight and started to circle the fire. With the tip of the stick Jaber positioned a charred bird and one by one he swiped the gourmet towards the assembly, with steady precision it rolled and rested beside the bricks in front of us.

In an instant a bunch of weird smoking black things was served in front of me. Not knowing what to do, I tried to observe the group as they all grabbed a piece of the hot gourmet. Holding the charcoaled bird by the tip of their fingers they tapped it on the brick cracking the charred feathers. Using both hands they wiped off the birds surface revealing the meat the size of a large poultry egg.

Their hands blackened they held the meat with both hands and munched on it, occasionally pulling off some bones they grinded up to the guts. The lips blackened with charcoal and sand they took a piece of “khubz” (native bread) and wiped it off, then continued to eat the stained bread. On that sight I froze and watched with awe.

Shaking my head I nervously passed my servings and waited for negative comments, surprisingly they accepted and continued to feast. Relaxed and revived I started to eat the “khubz” (native bread) when unexpectedly our team leader rolled a charcoaled bird towards me and said “lazim khol wahid” (you should eat one). I suddenly stopped and realized that eventually I will have to experience the taste of “the good food for lunch”.

I took the still smoking gourmet and noticed the burnt claws, quickly I looked at the fire and hoped the glare will remove the impression off my mind. I dribbled the hot gourmet onto the brick, it loosened the charred feathers so I wiped off the grime with my hands and slowly it revealed the bloated belly of the shady meat now visibly of a bird.


Priming myself for the first bite I cleared my throat held my breath then holding the “good food” with both hands I drew the meat towards my mouth. The meat touching my lips I took courage to defy the instinct to draw back then with a heavy snap I ripped off part of the bird.

With a good portion of meat in my mouth the mixture of sand and crushed charred feathers offered an annoying texture that roughed my mouth and tongue. I bravely chewed the “good food” as the salty taste of the char surfaced then a terrible gall flavor ensued, to kill the taste I stopped and forced myself to swallow.

Still bothered by the terrible aftertaste I noticed my hands dripping while holding the awful “good food”, then I saw the bloated belly oozing with bubbly murky oily juice. Quickly, I dropped the dripping meat on the brick pondering on how to flee.

Without hesitation I stood up, picked the kettle of already cold tea and said “ana kalas” (I am done) then walked straight to kitchen where I promptly gargled and wash. Then with the freshly boiled tea I returned to the group, though the aftertaste still strong I sat myself comfortably and sipped tea.

Wrecked Homes

It was on my early months in the Middle East when I first heard the phrase “ya kareb beitak”, a term casually delivered by some Arabs. Curious to learn, I asked an Egyptian doctor what it meant. He laughed at my asking and said “ya kareb beitak” means, "may your home be wrecked". I was stunned the short phrase is actually a terrible curse.

A friend we fondly called Engineer Doc was a cheerful man, an engineer by profession and “albolario” (quack doctor) because of his cure-it-all coconut oil liniment. His ever-smiling face and easy humor made the “barkada” (gang) constantly lively.

We were one happy group until, an associate broke the news, Doc was unable to work because of problems.

Inside a packed car one question was raised “anong nagyari? (what happened?), someone at the back seat replied “pare “natorotot” si Doc” (his wife left him for another man). Then there was silence.

Doc’s room was closed one of us knocked and called his name, a sad but firm voice replied that it is not locked. As we entered we saw Doc lighting a Marlboro took a deep puff and sat on the carpet beside him an ashtray full of cigarette butts. His face bore lines of sadness in contrast with the usual cheerful aura, the eyes visibly swollen because of tears.

Doc finally broke the silence “pare wala na si misis, sumama sa iba”, he continued “kumpare ko pa naman siya hayup siya” (my wife has gone with another man, he was my comrade ). We were all silenced none of us could advice on something we haven’t experienced. I asked him what his plan, Doc flatly answered “bahala na” (God knows).

After three days I was surprised by Doc’s early visit, he told me that his employer gave him a month and he is on his way to the airport. We shook hands as I lightly tapped his shoulders.

That was the last time I saw Doc. He was one of the many Filipinos caught by the terrible curse “ya kareb beitak”.

“Romeo” in the Heart of a Bedouin Girl

The unusual noise of bedouins stirred the generally uncomplicated ER. There a man decorated with fragrant leaves brought with him his four wives and a daughter.

Demanding that he need a doctor for his teenaged daughter, my Egyptian friend and I led the group inside a room. Immediately the man narrated that lately his daughter has been acting strange, she would stare blankly on the fields and forget everything about her animal flock. The man continued and said that his daughter is certainly in love.

Firmly, the man demanded an X-ray be done on his daughter’s heart to see the picture of the man that makes the girl act differently. He added that the girls head be X-rayed too. Dr. Ezzat wisely gave in to the man’s request and ordered that the girl be X-rayed.

The result came in and immediately Dr. Ezzat clipped the x-ray film in the viewer and invited the man to see for himself. The man squinted and carefully examined the film, not contented he called his wives so they could also scrutinize for themselves. They all tried to look for a face in the shades and shadows on the film. At last they agreed that their daughter is not hiding a “Romeo” in her heart.

Dr Ezzat however told them that it is not a “Romeo” that is making their child act peculiar, in fact it is a simple case of pneumonia. Medicines were prescribed and the man thanked Dr Ezzat with a tight hug and a kiss on both cheek.

He stood up and walked away chanting a tune, his wives and daughter followed in line.